


Into the Sunset

by eckswhaixi



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Bending, Alternate Universe - Western, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eckswhaixi/pseuds/eckswhaixi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Avatar' Korra, a notorious outlaw on the run from a haunted past.</p>
<p>Asami Sato, capable daughter of a famed railroad tycoon.</p>
<p>Two women as different as night and day, yet thrown together by a cruel twist of fate. Like it or not, they can either stand side by side to face a gathering storm, or scatter like dust to the wind.</p>
<p>So begins a sweeping journey across a wild frontier that refuses to be tamed, a desert whose very sands demand tribute of blood. Theirs is a violent story, a tale about seeking revenge and redemption, of living by the gun and trying to live with oneself. Ruthless enemies, staunch allies and everyone in between. Old sins that don't rest easily and faint hopes to see a better sunrise. All those and perhaps something more await, and in this no-man's land, conflict is resolved with the quickest draw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Eyes as blue as the empty sky above squinted against the arid wind and the dust it carried. They peered out from beneath a wide brimmed hat, scanning the horizon. Nothing but cactuses protruding from the scorching desert floor met her sight. A dark blue bandana shielded the rest of her face from the elements, and a gray duster coat billowed and snapped in the wind at her sides. Underneath it she wore the jacket from her Southern Water Tribe rebel fatigues, its identifying navy blue color long ago worn and sun bleached beyond recognition. On one shoulder was slung a Water Tribe Army lever action rifle, now depleted of ammunition. Over the other hung a pair of shotgun riding chaps. Her horse had collapsed the day before from heat and dehydration, making the uncomfortable and constricting things only a hindrance. What few drops of water she had left had been too valuable to spare for her mount, and even those had run dry long since. 

Around her waist hung two belts. One served the practical purpose of holding up her brown denim pants. The other was a heavy bandolier with an attached holster that rode low on her right hip. Sunlight glinted off of the holster's occupant, a custom designed Sato Peacemaker, as well as the .45 caliber cartridges embedded in the bandolier's leather loops. More than a few were now missing, the most recent vacancy belonging to the bullet buried in her horse's skull. It had been grim work, but a merciful end for an animal that had served her long and well. Given the growing weight of her limbs, the choking dryness in her throat and the Avatarian effort each step took, she knew she might well share that same mercy if her destination did not appear soon. It was a preferable end to wasting away beneath the blistering sun. She glared up at the heavenly offender as it hung at its highest in the sky, instantly regretting it. Blue eyes flinched away, blinking back dust and tears. 

The omnipresent heat of daytime was a far cry from the arctic climate she grew up in, but she had left it and much more behind in the south. No sense in getting nostalgic. The frigid desert nights, while more comfortable, hit a little too close to home. At least sweating beneath the sun grounded her in the present, keeping the past as just that. She would keep moving forward, and try to adjust as necessary. Try being the key word, the infernal heat really did not make it easier.

With a hand secured over the top of her hat and gritted teeth, she leaned into the wind so as to remain upright and trudged onward. 

Through shimmering mirages and the ample dust obscuring her vision, she at last saw a break on the horizon. Her breath caught at what she hoped was the outline of buildings jutting up from the monotonous landscape. 

"Wuchu," she croaked from behind her mask, but the wind ripped the word from her chapped lips. Spurs clinked at her heels, inaudible over the gale and useless without a mount, as her pace quickened, slightly. Hardened leather riding boots unsettled more dust from the road beneath her feet, and it was cast up and far away behind her.

•••

The wind had died down to a gentle breeze by the time she stumbled to the outskirts of the town. Oblivious to her surroundings, she lurched towards the first building she saw. It was a large two storied place, situated on the corner of an intersection between the road she had traveled in on and another that ran perpendicular with it. She caught a brief glimpse of a name and what seemed to be the portrait of a rodent above its entrance, but utter fatigue and dust stained vision obscured her clarity. 

As she approached, the sounds of jovial music, raucous laughter and loud shouting washed over her. Summoning every last ounce of strength left in her, she pushed up the steps that led to wolfbatwing-doors and she fell more than she walked through them. The room went from near deafening to dead silent instantly, as every pair of eyes turned towards her. The ditty being played on a piano somewhere ended abruptly on an awkward note. Catching herself on the doors as they swung inward, she took in the room, blinking rapidly. 

It was brightly lit, both by large windows that let in sunlight and suspiciously gaudy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Against the wall farthest from her was a long standup bar, richly varnished and embossed perhaps too enthusiastically with gold designs. Behind it stood a somewhat short but very well set man with unruly dark hair and green eyes. He wore a white dress shirt that was definitely a little tight around his shoulders and biceps, with a red vest and black bow tie. His expression as he looked at her was confusing, all at once surprised, concerned and cheerful. Behind him was a shelved wall adorned with an impossible number of bottles, the contents of which she could not begin to fathom. Above those was a long horizontal painting of what she assumed was the same animal whose portrait graced the building outside. 

Between her and the bar was an ocean of faces and tables, various games of cards, dice and billiards interrupted by her entrance. More than a few eyes trailed over the new arrival, lingering on her holstered six-shooter. Despite her state, she met any who made eye contact with an assertive, icy gaze.

To her left was a small stage where the piano was located, and it was being played by a gorgeous-in-a-cheap-way woman up until she had burst through the door. The pianist had brilliant orange hair pinned up with black and red feathers. She was dressed in a revealing red and black dress, black fishnet leggings, and ruby heels. Even in her absolute fatigue, it was time for her own eyes to linger, bloodshot blue appreciating all that red.

To her right a staircase led to the story above, and on it various women resembling the piano player in dress looked to be flirting with a number of gruff, inebriated men.

After a pregnant pause and the awkward feeling of being sized up by dozens of people simultaneously, everyone turned back to their prior activities, the noise resuming its previous levels. She winced at the cacophony and turned her eyes back to the man behind the bar. She reached vaguely at where she thought her face was to pull down the bandana covering it.

"Wa..." She managed to choke out. And suddenly the wood planks beneath her feet stood up to meet her, and it was black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of writing this, there's like a complete lack of Western!Korra fics! We can't have that, so I set out to write what I want to read. My only prior creative writing experience is with poetry, this is my first undertaking with extended prose/fiction, so I'd love to hear your thoughts along the way. I'm learning as I go!
> 
> This story is set in the Avatarverse without bending but with regular horses and a select few other animals. Wuchu is an invented location in the Southern Earth Kingdom, somewhere between the eastern plains and Si Wong desert, which I imagined could be like a Wild West frontier in its day. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride! 
> 
> Much love -xyz


	2. Daughter of the Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments and kudos, you all have me over here blushing like an idiot :) Enjoy!

Korra woke slowly, conscious first of the pounding in her head, and then the unpleasant dryness in her throat. Her tongue felt swollen inside her mouth. Her limbs were heavy as steel and ached after days of constant travel through the desert. After a while she cracked her eyes open, wincing when light flooded her vision, and tried to lean up. She was able to lift her head a few inches above the pillow on which it rested and look down at herself. She lay on a small simple bed, and it was the softest surface she had felt in months. She was dressed in frilly white undergarments that contrasted with her brown skin and left her feeling exposed. She felt an odd sensation about her entire body, and then realized it was because she was clean. She almost felt bad for whoever’s job that had been, she hadn’t been near enough water to bathe in since she had stepped foot into the southern Earth Kingdom. 

Suddenly, an icy grasp clenched her chest as her right hand moved instinctively to her hip, searching for the grip of her Sato Peacemaker but only meeting empty air. This time, panic pushed her all the way up and off her back. Despite the protest of her body and increasing tempo of painful surges behind her eyes, she looked around frantically. The room was sparsely furnished, illuminated only by an oil lamp hanging in its center. A window across the room to her right offered a view into the starry night sky, and a door stood in the wall facing the foot of her bed. She sighed relief when her eyes found the six-shooter still in its holster and bandolier on a bedside table next to her. She reached over and drew it out, noticing that her rifle leaned against the table as well, and collapsed back onto the bed. 

Korra held the gun before her eyes, tracing over the inlaid Southern Water Tribe designs on the ivory grip with her thumb. The long barrel, six-chambered cylinder and serrated hammer were a dark metal that glinted blue-black in the light. It had been a gift from her father when she was promoted to lieutenant general of the Southern Water Tribe military. That was a different time. A better time. She could still see the pride in her father’s eyes as he beamed at her, feel the warm embrace as her mother pulled her into a crushing hug after the ceremony. 

Between now and then was a yawning abyss of bloodshed and shame. Pride had turned to fear. Warmth had turned to ice.

She pulled herself from her unwelcome dark thoughts before she fell too deep, focusing instead on the weapon before her. Like her, it had seen its share of action, which was reflected in its many scuffs and notches. It was an extension of herself. Lowering it to her side, Korra eased back into the bedding, considerably more relaxed. But still painfully thirsty. 

She had just been collecting the will to get up and search for water when she heard the handle on the door of her room turn. Propping up on her elbow, she leveled her gun at the entrance. Despite the trembling in her muscles, she held the weapon steady. The door opened inwards with agonizing slowness, until the tanned face of a boy in his pre-teens peered around it. His dark hair was shaved on its sides, but mid-length and tussled in multiple directions on his crown. His pale green eyes blinked at her, found the barrel of her weapon pointed him, and widened as the blood drained from his face. He flew back behind the door and Korra heard his footsteps stampede down what she imagined was a hall outside her room. A moment later, she could hear him shouting.

“Bolin! The Water Tribe girl is awake! She tried to shoot me!” She rolled her blue eyes at the kid’s embellishment, but waited as she heard heavier footsteps than before climb up stairs and approach her room. Knuckles rapped on her door, and a voice sounded on the other side.

“Knock knock! I’m coming in,” and the door was pushed open all the way. There stood the barkeep she remembered from before, still dressed in his same upper attire, now with a white apron from the waist down over black slacks and dress shoes. He looked in and raised his thick eyebrows at the gun she still had trained on the doorway. He raised his arms in the air, holding a clear jug of water in one hand and a glass in the other. “Whoa whoa whoa, easy there partner!” He said with a mock drawl in his voice. He noticed the longing look in her eyes as she stared at the water, and chuckled. “I’m going to bring this in now. Also, I took the liberty of removing the bullets from your gun and belt. I hate to intrude, but I couldn’t have a stranger blowing away one of my own, or myself for that matter. I should’ve told Kai that.” He frowned with the realization.

Korra paused, thinking to herself. If this man had really meant her harm, she wouldn’t have been cared for, or in all likelihood even woken up. She finally turned her gun away, hefting it in her hand. “I-” she coughed hoarsely, clearing her parched throat. “I could tell. Gun’s lighter with the chambers empty. Sorry. Don’t know where I am, this is better protection than none,” she managed in a rasp. It was true, any firearm pointed at you was intimidating, something she knew from intimate experience. The man raised his eyebrows again as he stepped into the room and over to her bedside table, pushing the holster and belt to the side as he set down the glass and poured water into it.

“So I take it you aren’t just any green city-gal out for adventure in the country. Name’s Bolin by the way, and you’re in a room on the second story of my fine establishment, Pabu’s Saloon,” he said, with pride and a puffed out chest at the last part. “We get all kinds of folk through Wuchu, especially now that the rail was built, but not many Water Tribe and not many just after a dust storm like that. I thought you were a dead person when you came through my doors. It didn’t help when you dropped flat right afterwards.” He had finished pouring water, and offered the glass to her. She grasped it greedily and uncaring as water sloshed over the sides, bringing it to her chapped lips and gulping thirstily. In her haste she choked on the water, coughing violently. Bolin leaned over and patted her on the back with a broad, firm hand, chuckling again. “I said easy there partner,” but this time his words were gentle. “We’ve got plenty of water with the spring nearby. No need to rush.”

After her fit passed, Korra finished the glass and held it out. Bolin complied and poured more water. “Thanks,” she said, her words now much clearer. Some of the pounding in her head had eased, and she felt a little more human with water smoothing the sharp dryness in her throat. “But I don’t know if I have enough coin to pay for your lodging and care.”

He waved her words away, grinning. “Don’t worry about it. Helping people is what I like to do.” He looked down at her furrowed stare. “But if you’re one of those ‘I don’t like to have debts to anyone’ blowhards, I’m sure there’s something around here you could help out with.” 

Korra gave a grim chuckle herself, for the first time she could remember since leaving the south. He had hit the nail on the head. 

He grinned wider and said, “That’s better. Make yourself at home. Ginger and the girls insisted on washing and dressing you up,” Korra frowned, both disconcerted and slightly disappointed that she had been unconscious at the time, “but I’ll have the rest of your belongings brought up after they’re cleaned.” He turned towards the door and made his way out, stopping before he reached it like he remembered something. He turned back to her with an inquiring expression. “Oh! Do you have a name?” 

“It’s Ko-” she caught herself and cursed internally for letting her guard down. “Kya,” she said. 

“Kya,” he said back to her. His easy smile found its way onto his face again. “That’s a nice name. Well, welcome to Wuchu, Kya. I’ll be at the bar downstairs, find me when you’re up and about,” Bolin turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him. 

Korra finished her second glass of water, pouring herself another and downing it quickly before setting it on the bedside table with the jug. She picked up her Sato Peacemaker from where it lay at her side, staring at it for a while before tucking it beneath her pillow, for comfort’s sake. She fell back onto the bed, and surrendered herself to sleep that overtook her with unfamiliar ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Korra what are you hiding? I tackled dialogue here for the first time, which is surprisingly fun to write!
> 
> Some brief trivia:
> 
> The Sato Peacemaker is a shameless adaptation of the legendary Colt Peacemaker, favored six-shooter among Old West gunslingers and soldiers. Korra's rifle is modeled after the Winchester M1873.


	3. Hell Froze Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give my heartfelt thanks to mybuttockisdivine (great username!) for correcting the romanization of "Wushu", as it should be spelled "Wuchu". I've gone back and made the necessary changes. If you guys spot anything else like that, please let me know! I can feel my writer power-levels rising with all your help, comments, and kudos. 
> 
> WARNING: The first part of this chapter contains graphic depictions of gore and violence. Just so you know, this will be a violent story.

Her boots slipped and slid through the bloody slush, nearly losing their footing. In all directions, as far as she could see, bodies intact and not littered the ice. In the distance, what remained of the enemy retreated. A ragtag cheer went up behind her as the survivors under her command reveled in their victory. She could not bring herself to join them, blue eyes glued to the carnage surrounding her, ears flushed with cold as they tried to block out the moans and screams. There was no briefing that could have prepared her for this, no drills to run her men through that would make the sight of such grotesque death easier to stomach. Suddenly her new military rank felt like a sham, a curse she wanted broken. Thousands had died because of her orders today, and for what? A useless field of snow. She wondered if the red stains seeping into the ice would ever fade, or if they would be frozen there for all time, a crimson reminder of today’s bloodshed. 

Her breaths came in ragged, short bursts as she continued walking forward, no destination in mind. Her foot caught on an outstretched limb beneath her, and she plummeted face first into a puddle of snow and still-warm blood. She scrambled back on hands and knees, unable to keep the retches down as she lost her morning’s rations. Eventually there was nothing more but dry heaves, her body stilling and breath calming. She looked down at the pool of liquid she had stumbled into, seeing her face reflected back at her. It was masked in bloodied water, which she started to wipe away frantically. She saw her own eyes fill with tears as no matter how much she pawed, crimson streaks remained. Desperate anger seized her, and she slammed a fist downward, erupting a fountain of red that painted her face anew. 

“Agh!” She cried out, standing up and wiping at her face again to clear her eyes. The stench of iron choked her nostrils, its taste coated her tongue. She spat, and stifled sobs before they began, hearing footsteps approaching behind her. 

“Lieutenant general?” A hesitant voice called. She cleaned her face as best as she could, and smoothed her short, blood-matted hair before turning around. One of her colonels looked on apprehensively, eyes widening in fear at her appearance. He cleared his throat before continuing, “Do we have your permission to pursue?”

She jerked her head side to side. “Give the men the order to fall back,” she replied shakily. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“With all do respect, ma’am, if we push forward now-”

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “You heard me. Those are my orders.” Her voice had steadied, and she felt an unfamiliar cold close over her heart. “Gather the wounded that will make it, give the rest a soldier’s death. Put any Northerner still alive out of their misery.” The words came from somewhere else, icy and distant.

The colonel’s mouth opened as if to say something, but he thought better and simply gave a “Yes ma’am.” Saluting, he walked back towards the others to relay her orders. She sighed, a heavy weight settling on her chest. 

A whimper sounded at her feet and a loose grip fell around her heel. Jumping in surprise, she glanced down. A young man barely older than a boy looked imploringly up at her with watery brown eyes. The tan skin of his face was now ghost white, blood running from his mouth. Her gaze trailed down his body, wincing at the stains spreading across his stomach and the legs that ended in grisly stumps above the knees.

“Pl...Please...I don’t…” he mouthed the words more than he spoke them, “I don’t want...to…” He was interrupted by a gurgling cough, spilling more blood onto the snow. The predominant white of his fatigues and the insignias at his shoulders marked him as a Northern Water Tribe infantryman. A range of emotions flitted across her face; sorrow, pity, anger, disgust. This kid likely had family awaiting his return in the North. Maybe a girl or a boy that he was sweet on and exchanged letters with. He wasn’t even that far from family with her. Each body out here shared a common ancestry. She was acutely aware of her surroundings again, no longer able to distance herself from reality. 

The sobs came in full force this time as she drew her Peacemaker from its place at her side and pointed it downwards, offering a painless shortcut to oblivion. “I’m sorry kid.” The hammer on her gun clicked back. “For all of this,” she whispered.

A discharge cracked across the ice.

●●●

Gunfire still echoed in her ears when Korra came to, panting and sweating. An eternity passed as she lay staring at the ceiling. Eventually she calmed, looking around and catching her bearings. She remembered where she was, and slowly disentangled herself from the sheets twisted impossibly around her. The oil lamp in her room had depleted of fuel, but sunlight poured through the windows and bathed her in a morning glow. Heaving her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up and stretched unused limbs. She poured herself another glass of water and downed it, clearing her head somewhat.

Her belongings sat on a chair next to the window, her clothes freshly cleaned and folded with her hat and belt sitting on top. Korra moved over to them, stripping out of her night dress and putting on her considerably worn but familiar attire. As she changed she looked out the window. The road below was starting to fill with townspeople as they went about their morning business, a few wagons and horse riders moving past them. Across the way construction had begun on a new building, its wooden facade already raised. Over the saws and hammers she heard men shouting to one another while they worked. She finished dressing, tightening the belt around her waist, tying her bandana around her neck and placing her hat over her head. She left her duster on the chair, choosing instead to roll up the sleeves of her jacket, exposing dark skinned and muscled forearms. Reaching beneath the chair, she pulled out her boots and stepped back to the bed, sitting down to unbuckle the spurs from her bootheels. The boots themselves were made for riding and would be uncomfortable to walk in, but she had managed across half a desert. However, as she slid them on, she knew what to purchase first if she secured some coin. 

Standing up once more, Korra pulled her holster and bandolier off the bedside table, looping them around her waist. She pulled her six-shooter from its resting place beneath her pillow and slid it into the holster at her right hip, taking a few steps to let it settle within comfortable reach. She felt defenseless with her lack of ammunition. Maybe Bolin would trust his guest enough to return it.

Giving the room a brief once over, making sure all was in its place, she walked over to the door, opening and closing it behind her. She stood at the end of a hall lit by another window. It led to a landing overlooking the bottom floor with stairs leading down. The heels of her boots thumped loudly on the wood planks beneath them as she made her way downstairs. From behind the doors that flanked her on both sides, she could hear snores in some and giggles in others. The main room of the saloon was nearly empty compared to when she first saw it, occupied only by a few early starters and late enders, the latter slumped over where they sat. She saw Bolin working busily behind his stand-up bar, setting up for the day.

As she walked over, he looked up and saw her, a grin plastering his face. She had a feeling it was his favorite expression. “Morning Kya!” He said brightly. “You’re up just in time for opening.”

Korra gave him a nod as ways of acknowledgment and stepped up to the bar, leaning against it. He was dressed exactly the same as last night. “Did you even sleep?” She asked, failing to understand how he was so chipper. Mornings were evil, even with the luxury of a good night’s sleep, which she had lacked.

“Of course! I caught a few winks after I finished cleaning and before I had to get up to prepare the saloon.” Leaning close to her, he looked around in a conspiratory manner before speaking quietly with his hand shielding the side of his mouth. “Kai’s supposed to help with that, but he’s a growing boy who needs his sleep. Don’t tell Ginger though, she’d have his hide.”

Korra just shrugged at him. “All right. Your secret’s safe with me.” Bolin gave an appreciative smile and pat on her shoulder, then turned around and gestured dramatically at the collection behind him.

“So, anything I can get for you?” He asked, peering back at her over his shoulder. “You want it, I have it.”

She didn’t know where to begin, so she settled with, “Have anything to chase away bad dreams?” 

He gave her a concerned look, a frown in his green eyes as he turned back around. “Didn’t sleep well?” She gave another noncommittal shrug. After a moment, his face brightened, “Well, I have just the thing. Are you a coffee drinker? I just got in a fresh shipment of beans from the Fire Nation. Having a rail through the town opens up all sorts of business opportunities,” he practically gushed. 

Korra gave a frown of her own. She had heard of the stuff, but it wasn’t what she had in mind. “I was hoping for something a little more...forgetfulness-inducing,” she implied. 

“Oh, an early starter too huh? Well, even better! Give me a moment,” Bolin said, turning again to the opposite counter and setting to work. Minutes passed and she couldn’t see around his broad back, but soon an unfamiliar and wonderful aroma met her nose. He turned back to her, brandishing a metal cup filled with a black liquid. He set it on the bartop, then reached below to bring out a dark brown bottle. He pulled the stopper and poured some of the amber liquid into the metal cup, then pushed it over to her. “Coffee and a shot of whiskey. Something of my own invention, if I do say so myself. Simple, but it does the trick.” He waited with an expectant look on his face.

Korra picked the cup up by its handle and brought it to her face, savoring the smell. Taking a sip, she sighed. It was terrifically bitter stuff, but it warmed her to the core and chased away the remnants of her morning fog. After a few more, she felt a pleasant buzz as the whiskey did its work. Before she was conscious of it, a slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “That’s something special,” she finally stated. 

She worried Bolin’s head might split in half at the compliment and wondered just how much bigger his smile could get. “Glad you like it,” he said simply. 

They were there for a time, Bolin serving her more coffee and some biscuits with cold meat for breakfast. He made small talk, telling her about Wuchu and its growth over the last year. It was already a frequent stop for travelers crossing the desert because of the water nearby, but when Future Industries built a railway through the town it boomed, becoming a gateway to a new frontier. After a while the conversation slowed.

“So, are you still hanging onto my bullets?” she asked casually over the top of the cup, watching him with piercing blue eyes. His expression changed from surprise at the question to mild amusement as he reached once more below the bar.

“No, I have them right here actually,” pulling out a lidded wooden box and pushing it in her direction. She reached out to take it, but he pulled it back towards him. “You seem to be an accomplished gunwoman, so I’ll return these on three conditions.” Korra bristled, but quelled her temper. The ammunition was hers in the first place, but this man had taken in a stranger and nursed her back to health. 

“Okay. What are they?”

“First,” he started. “No shooting in Pabu’s Saloon. Bullet holes and blood are a pain to clean.” She nodded. Reasonable enough. “Second, no killing anyone during your stay in Wuchu. My brother has it hard enough as it is without newcomers blasting each other to bits.”

“I can say that I won’t start anything, but if it comes to self-defense I might not be able to keep that promise,” she warned. He nodded back at her.

“That’s fair. Just try your best, okay? Third, last, but not least, tell me about yourself.” He finished. 

“Oka- Wait what?” She was caught off guard and couldn’t help stuttering. He shrugged back at her, an innocent look on his face.

“I’m a saloon owner, gossip is in the job description. Collecting and telling stories is what I do. It’s not everyday a gunslinging Water Tribe girl bursts out of a storm. You made quite the stir yesterday. Plus, you look kind of familiar, but I can’t quite place it,” he told her honestly. 

A thousand thoughts ran through her head, and she hoped it didn’t show on her face. Bolin had likely seen the Water Tribe insignias decorating her weapons, so it would be useless to try and hide that part of her past. There was nothing she could do about her appearance, but hopefully he wouldn’t realize he had probably seen her face on a poster with a bounty. Korra offered thanks to the spirits that he was not as sharp as he could be. Still, she would have to choose her words carefully. “Fine. What would you like to know?”

He beamed at her. “Okay, I know you drifter types hate to open up, but just give me the basics. I can tell by your guns that you’re former Water Tribe brass. Steer me away if it’s a subject not up for discussion, but which side were you on?”

She shrugged, trying to look casual. “North,” she lied. 

His smile turned to a look of empathy. “Well, you have my sympathies. The whole world knows that was a bloody fight for both sides. Why’d you leave?”

“War was over. We won. Wasn’t really a point in staying. I heard there was a living to be made out here.” She gave her replies shortly, not sure how much longer she could keep the bile in the back of her throat. 

“I see. How long have you been in the southern Earth Kingdom?”

“Several months now. Spent most of them working along the coast after I landed.” That part was true, but she left out some of her more criminal activity.

“Okay, last question: where are you headed next?”

“I’m not sure.” Which was purely honest. “But I came to Wuchu thinking I’d catch a train to where the tracks end and help build them the rest of the way. Future Industries pays well, or so it’s said.” And no one would find her there, at the end of the settled world. 

Bolin looked satisfied with her answers, and smiled at her apologetically before sliding the box over to her and removing his hand. “Thank you, and sorry, but I’ll need some ammunition of my own when my customers come in asking about you.” 

Korra nodded at him, then opened the box and began slotting the .45 caliber cartridges into her bandolier. When only six remained, she drew her Peacemaker, opened the loading gate on its right side and began plugging the bullets into the cylinder's empty chambers. Once she finished, she spun the cylinder with a flick of her left thumb and snapped the gate closed. She couldn’t resist giving the gun a twirl around her trigger finger as she slid it back into its holster, appreciating its full weight and balance. She felt considerably better now.

Bolin watched with his thick eyebrows raised at the performance. “Well, I hate to kill the mood, but are you still interested in work?”

She chuckled. Despite the discomfort his line of inquiry had caused, she knew now that he, at least, meant her no harm. Besides, she had been lacking the luxury of conversation for too long, even it was full of half-truths and lies. “Sure am. Just point the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition bomb! Also, Bolin doing as Bolin does. I love his and Korra's bro-ship in the series, and I look forward to writing it into this story. I apologize if the pacing has been slow so far, it just ends up happening! More characters and plot will be introduced soon. I recently re-watched Once Upon a Time in the West, a spaghetti western directed by Sergio Leone. The opening 20 minutes are literally 3 bad guys standing around swatting flies, cracking knuckles and drinking water from the top of their hats (???), probably wasn't a good influence. Let me know how you feel things are shaping up so far! Bombard me with comments here, or over at tumblr where my username is the same! Thank you for reading my story so far! Much love -eckswhaixi


	4. Big Iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Back with another update. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for your comments and kudos y'all! Minor warning, a little blood and bad words ahead.

After breakfast, Korra and Bolin stepped out of the saloon. She pulled her bandana above her nose, not running the risk of being recognized. Bolin gave her an inquisitive look. The air was still, the threat of dust nonexistent. 

“I’m sensitive to the sun,” she lied, badly. He nodded slowly, then shrugged to himself and didn’t press the fact that she was far tanner than he. They stepped out into the road. Korra turned around, taking in the face of the building that she had missed when she first entered it. Over the doors read ‘Pabu’s Saloon’ in tall narrow letters. Following them was painted what appeared to be a child’s attempt at the face of fire ferret.

“What do you think?” Bolin asked from her side. “I did it myself.” His chest was puffed out, a proud grin on his face. She didn’t have the heart to deflate him.

“It’s...charming?” Korra said. She didn’t have to look at Bolin to feel the beam he sent her way. 

“Thanks!” After a silent moment, his face fell. “I miss the little guy. He was my best friend. Didn’t take to well to the climate after we left Republic City for Wuchu.” 

She turned to him, reaching over and patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. Her people skills were more than rusty. “I’m sorry. I lost a friend like that a while ago too.” He gave a melancholy sigh and patted her back.

“I guess that’s something we all learn out here, loss is a fact of life. Anyways, enough sad memories. Let me introduce you to someone. He’s also Water Tribe, and runs Wuchu’s best construction business. He’s building a new general store, and I’m sure he could use some extra labor.” Bolin led her across the road to where the construction she had spotted from her window was underway. They found the foreman with his back turned to them, bellowing colorful remarks at his workers. 

“Come on you halfwits! Put your backs into it! Did I hire a bunch of crippled turtlecrabs?” Korra was impressed with his acoustics. The man would make a good drill sergeant.

Bolin coughed into his fist, “Mr. Malaq?” He called. The foreman finished his most recent train of insults before rounding on them, his pale cheeks flushed with heat. Standing up straight when he saw who they were, he ran a hand self-consciously through his black hair, slicking it back. He was an older man, face tall and gaunt, wrinkles creased around his gray eyes. 

“Bolin! It’s always a pleasure.” He strode over on long legs, and the two men engaged in a firm handshake. He turned to Korra, smiling sheepishly as he gave a small bow. “A thousand pardons you had to hear that. Miss…?”

“Kya,” she said as she held out her hand. He looked surprised, but he reached out his own and they clasped tightly. 

“A good grip, Miss Kya,” he nodded appreciatively at her. “What can I do for you two? Hope my boy hasn’t been causing anymore trouble at your place, Bolin?”

“No actually, Tahno’s been on good behavior since that run in with the sheriff.” Malaq grimaced. “It’s just that Kya here is looking for work. Do you have room for another hand?” Bolin asked, waving at the construction going on. The foreman looked at her again, thinking for a time.

“Well, you could hardly be half as bad as some of the louts I’ve had the misfortune of employing, and you look like you can lift a beam or two. Know your way around a hammer and saw?” She nodded. “Very good. Then you can get started. I pay a wage of five yuans for a day’s labor, but I’ll throw in a couple more if you work harder than this lot.” He gestured derisively behind him. “Plus, it’ll do the men good if they see a woman outworking them.” Malaq walked over to a nearby table cluttered with paper, tools and plans, then returned, handing her a pair of working gloves and directing her where to start.

“Looks like it’s time for me to be getting back to the saloon, so I’ll let you be,” Bolin said. “Let’s say you give me a tenth of what you make today and we’ll call your debt even.” Korra made to protest, that was skewed ridiculously in her favor, but he cut her off. “And I won’t take a copper more, any which way about it. Have fun at work!” He was back across the road and through his wolfbatwing-doors before she could retort.

Sighing, she pulled on her gloves and set off to where Malaq told her to begin. As she started to work, some of the men took notice and nudged each other, their own pace quickening. After a time, Korra sweat heavily and removed her jacket under the midday sun. She exposed a sleeveless black undershirt, her arm and shoulder muscles rippling and glistening with effort as she hoisted a long beam of wood into the air. She was met with catcalls and jeers from a few of the other workers, one of them making a rude comment about her “unwomanly” build. The rest roared delightedly with laughter at the harassers’ expense when she shot back equally rude and filthy remarks. A life in the military had accustomed her to rough talk. 

The day passed in a similar manner, shouts, jokes, laughter and encouragement exchanged between the workers. Korra found herself grinning behind her bandana on more than one occasion. Honest work with honest - if somewhat unsophisticated - men was a welcome change. Construction on the store proceeded rapidly, soon the floor was laid and the frame was set. She stood up from where she had been hammering boards to remove her hat and wipe her brow, chin-length brown hair plastered to the sides of her face. A refreshing westward breeze had picked up, but it quickly became a strong wind. She looked to the east, her eyes following the road that had brought her to Wuchu the day before, and met dark clouds that started to gather above the horizon. She had seen their like before, and knew what they heralded. Desert storms were rare, quick and ferocious in their intensity. Malaq must have seen them too, because he started yelling to his men.

“That’s a wrap boys! Looks like we might have a squall tonight. Nail down whatever’s loose and pray we have something left come morning. Come get your day’s wages!” He shouted to be heard over the increasing wind. Korra made her way over to the line that formed before him, and waited for her pay. When it was her turn, Malaq passed her ten yuans. “Thank you for your help today Miss Kya, we got along much farther than we would’ve if it weren’t for you. I haven’t seen the boys that spirited since I promised a night of free rounds at Pabu’s. I’d almost say you were used to getting people motivated.” He chuckled, but his forehead lined with creases as he watched the approaching clouds. “I might need your services again these next few days, if tonight’s weather is as rough as it looks to be shaping up.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Malaq, but I’m afraid I won’t be in town that long if I have my way.” She replied. He nodded understanding. Their hands met in a tight grip once more.

“If you ever find yourself in Wuchu and in need of work, ask for my whereabouts and I’ll have a place for you. Safe travels if we don’t meet again, Miss Kya,” he bade farewell.

“I appreciate it, sir.” Korra turned away and headed back to Bolin’s saloon. 

●●●

The place had filled considerably since morning, tobacco smoke choking the rafters and various townsfolk spread out among the tables. Some of the men she had been working with earlier followed her in and invited her to drink at their table. She promised to join them in a bit, then found Bolin behind the bar and tossed him a yuan. “Mr. Malaq pays well.”

Bolin’s eyes widened. “You must’ve made a good impression. Don’t tell any of his boys what he paid you, there’d be a riot,” he laughed. “I picked out a change of clothes for you. Don’t worry, it’s practical stuff.” She nodded, then began to make her way up the stairs and down the hall to her room. She froze in place when she noticed the door was cracked open. It was possible Bolin had just forgot to close it behind him. Still, there was no such thing as too careful. 

Korra drew her Sato Peacemaker from its place at her hip, drawing the hammer back slowly with her thumb and cupping it with her left hand to muffle the audible click as best she could. She pressed her back to the wall at the door's side, slowed her breathing and counted to three. When she finished, she spun in front of the door and delivered a hard kick. It slammed open, crashing into the wall as it completed its swivel inwards. She stepped into the room six-shooter first-

-and lowered it, gently closing the hammer with an exasperated sigh. There stood the boy she remembered Bolin calling Kai, her rifle clattering to the floor from his open hands. He wore a green collared shirt underneath brown suspenders that held up his dark trousers, and he shook like a leaf. His expression was much the same as she remembered when he fled her room the previous night.

“Kid, you’re going to die of fright if we keep meeting like this. Didn’t anyone tell you not to go messing with someone else’s things?” She questioned. His mouth hung open, green eyes so wide the whites were exposed.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t shoot me! Bolin said to bring your clothes up, please don’t shoot, I saw your rifle and wanted to look at it closer and I’m sorry it was just neat looking and please don’t shoot me!” His words stumbled out almost quicker than she could catch them. She returned her pistol to its leather home, waving his apologies and pleas away.

“I try not to shoot anyone without good reason. Just be a little more considerate of people’s privacy.” Korra reached down and picked up her rifle, holding it in front of her and checking for any new dents or nicks.

“So...you have shot people?” he asked, a little boldness and curiosity creeping into his voice. 

“Bolin hasn’t told you by now? I’m ex-military. It was a part of the job.” She ran a tan hand up the length of the rifle’s barrel, then pulled the stock of the weapon into her right shoulder and pointed it towards the window, peering down the iron sights and confirming their alignment. Through them she watched lightning crack the gray sky, listening to the thunder that rolled after. The first drops of rain began their tattoo on the saloon’s roof. She lowered the weapon, finding nothing wrong and gave the boy an admonishing look. “Anyways, it’s not something I recommend. Now it’s time for you to get, so I can change.” 

Kai scampered from her room. She closed the door after him and moved back to the bed, peeling off her sweat-stained working clothes. She found the outfit the boy had brought up folded on her blankets. It was a comfortable fit, consisting of a white dress shirt, a dark navy vest that ran vertically with pinstripes and close-hugging black denim pants. She tucked the latter into her boots, settled her belts, hat and bandana in their familiar places and followed Kai downstairs. 

Korra found her coworkers gathered around a table near the bar, already engaged in a game of cards. She pulled up a chair and waited to be dealt in. Bolin brought her a glass and the same bottle of whiskey he served her that morning, pouring a little for her. She gave an appreciative “thanks,” and turned back to the game at hand. Cautiously, she pulled her bandana low enough around her face to take a sip of the fiery drink, but the men around her seemed too focused in their cards and alcohol to take notice. 

She felt a warm feeling spread through her limbs, and savored the moment. Ginger played a cheerful tune on the stage piano, her nasal voice keeping in time. The patter of rain had become a torrential downpour, but that was outside. They had tired of cards, and turned to swapping tales. Some of what she told Bolin had already spread, so she set her boots on the table, leaning back in the chair and regaled the men with stories of military life when they asked about it. The table erupted with laughter at her most recent one regarding the hazing of a clueless batch of new recruits, but it died on their lips as they noticed something behind her. “Here comes the boss’s very own wet towel,” one of them grumbled under his breath.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous Kya everyone’s talking about.” Korra didn’t have to see the face belonging to the voice to hear the sneer dripping off of every word. She slowly turned her head around, looking back at the speaker over her right shoulder. A tall and slender young man stood, flanked on both sides by a couple of rough men, saloon girls leaning on their arms. She noticed the holstered six-gun at his side, what was exposed of it covered in exaggerated ornate designs. He was dressed all in black, his hand on one hip to hold back his long coat as if trying to make sure his weapon was exposed. He had a fop of black hair styled ridiculously across the right side of his face, a sheen reflected off it by the chandeliers above. She could see the resemblance to Malaq in his face immediately.

“Tahno, I take it?” She asked casually. 

“So my reputation proceeds me? As does yours. You seem to have made a big impression. You know what my pa told me? ‘You could learn a thing or two from a girl like that,’” He impersonated his father’s deep voice, beginning to tremble with rage, and he spat on the floor. She noticed a telltale flush in his cheeks. Apparently some liquid courage had found its way into his system. 

“Your domestic problems are no concern of mine,” she shrugged back at him, turning to the glass she brought to her lips.

“You’ll look at me when I talk, if you know what’s good for you,” he snarled. Korra heard Bolin call from behind the bar, a warning in his voice.

“Tahno, take it easy, or should I remind you what happened last time you caused trouble?”

The pale Water Tribesman focused his fury on the saloon keeper. “Shut it and get back to pouring Bolin. I don’t see Beifong or your brother here tonight. My pa built this place, I don’t see why my boys and I can’t raze it to the ground,” he shot before turning back to Korra. “Everyone’s saying you’re a former North mutt. Did it make you feel big, squashing the South? I heard what you did to Harbor City, what you did to the Chief’s family. Makes me glad I didn’t grow up in the Poles.” He spat again. “I see why they call you lot savages.”

The burn of whiskey in her mouth turned to ash. Maybe the alcohol had gone to her head quicker than she thought. Maybe it was the itch in her trigger finger that had long gone unassuaged. Maybe it was the way he threatened the people who had taken care of her, or pulled the ghosts out of her past and set them right before her. Whichever it was, she felt the ice in her chest begin to crack, spilling forth a white hot rage. 

Korra lowered her boots off of the table, setting the empty glass down. She pulled the bandana once more over her face and stood up. The saloon had gone completely quiet, for the second time by her doing. She turned to face Tahno, her eyes flaring with cyan fire as she bored them into the offender's empty gray ones. Her voice was low and dangerous, echoing the thunder riding across the sky.

“Listen, pretty boy. What do you say we quit disturbing these fine folks and their drinks. If you’re one so much for conversation, let’s step outside and see if your iron talks as loudly as you do. Or is that toy for show?”

Tahno’s eyes widened, taken aback at the challenge. She figured he wasn’t used to hearing backtalk. He started with a stutter, but composed himself and tried to regain his suave. “And get wet in that storm for the like of you? Not worth it.” He turned, raising his hands in the air to signal his cronies to follow him.

“Afraid of a little water, huh? You weren’t raised in the poles, sure, but you don’t even have a drop of Water Tribe in you. Did ‘pa’ buy you that get up too?” She knew she shouldn’t keep goading, the fool had already shown his colors. The anger in her felt otherwise.

Tahno stopped. She knew he was stuck. He could take the challenge, or lose face in front of half the town. He turned. “I just said you weren’t worth it, but I don’t think I can let that slide. I’ll be out front.” With another spit, he walked over to the saloon’s doors and pushed them open forcefully, his boys close on his heels.

This time Bolin’s warning was directed at her. “Kya-” 

She cut him off. “Don’t worry Bolin, I won’t break our promise. Someone just needs to teach that pup to watch his mouth.” She made her own way out. 

The desert squall was in full force now, hard rain blowing nearly horizontal. The sun hung low in the western sky, but swollen clouds overcast the town. Tahno had already taken a position in the muddy road so he was upwind, likely thinking it gave him the advantage. His coat was tossed over the railing that fenced the saloon’s porch, hand poised over the gun holstered at his hip. He was rigid as a corpse except for his shivering, and had an amateur’s stance. Korra wondered if he had ever shot his gun at another person, or been shot at himself. 

She made her way down the front steps of Pabu’s, heels sinking into mud as she sauntered out, never taking her gaze off of him. Freezing wind cut through her clothes as they stuck to her in the downpour. She relished in the cold. It cleared her senses, built an icy focus behind her eyes. They were twenty paces apart when she turned to face her opponent, the rain making it difficult to see even at close distance. She spread her feet a little past shoulder width, right boot sliding a few inches forward and pushing up a swell of mud over the toe. Ever so slowly she leaned back at a slight angle, tightening her core and loosening her limbs. Glacier-like, she brought her right hand near the grip of her Peacemaker, then moved her left across the front of her waist and stopped in front of her belt buckle.

The half-built general store to her right creaked and moaned in the gale, threatening to come apart. Tahno’s followers stood outside the entrance of the saloon, arms crossed and watching the two. The customers inside pressed against the windows and peered over the doors, blocking the golden light the building’s interior cast out. 

Korra’s fingers flexed in both hands. Tahno tensed further at the motion, if that was even possible, but didn’t make his play. They both stared intently, waiting for the other to move first. Her face was impassive and empty against the assault of rain, his was furrowed and strained in concentration. 

A bolt of lightning split the sky over their heads and a resounding crack followed instantly after, loud enough to tear a hole through the heavens.

Then the clap of thunder reached them. Tahno stared blankly at his empty hand where he had just started to draw. His gun hadn’t cleared his holster before it had been ripped away with the loud clang of bullet meeting metal. It lay in the mud at his side and slightly behind. Confusion marred his features, then realization followed. His knees started to buckle.

Korra watched through the haze of black powder and smoke that had exploded from the barrel at her hip, until it faded away. She released the trigger and removed her left hand from above the six-shooter’s hammer, sliding the weapon back from where it came. She walked over to the paralyzed man, and shoved him roughly down into the road’s filth. He started to scramble back, but slipped and sprawled out on his gangly limbs. She reached down and grabbed him by the collar with her left hand, yanking him up roughly. She raised her right fist and brought hardened knuckles crashing into his face with all the force of a hammer onto an anvil. His head snapped back and a gout of blood shot from his nose. She pulled him up once more so they were face to face.

“Look at me. Look at me! You ever speak ill of our people - of _my_ people - or threaten Bolin again, no promise is going to keep the next bullet from between your eyes. Is that clear?” She growled. Her eyes were bestial.

“Cr- cr- crystal,” Tahno whimpered back. She expelled a long breath and some of the heat in her chest. Korra dropped him into the road and stood up. In the fury of the last few moments, the construction underway had finally come toppling down without her notice, all the work they had accomplished today undone. The rain had ceased, and the clouds began to break apart. She turned back to the saloon with her hand at her gun once more, expecting to have to deal with Tahno’s men, but a sharp voice pierced the air and interrupted her.

“What in the name of the fucking spirits is going on over there?!” Korra looked, and saw an older woman stomping through the mud in their direction. She couldn’t make out her appearance at the distance, but she caught the glint of a gold sheriff’s star on the woman’s chest. 

“Shit!” Korra exclaimed as she rounded in the opposite direction and began to think of an escape plan, but stopped short. The sawn-off double barrels of a coach gun were leveled at her chest. She instinctively reached to her hip, but froze when she heard the click of hammers being drawn back.

“Ah ah ah, easy does it,” a smooth voice tinged with a hint of roughness spoke. She followed the voice up, meeting the amber eyes of the man in front of her. Those and the sharply pointed eyebrows above them were all she could see, the rest of his face hidden under a black broad-rimmed hat and red bandana. “Hands where I can see ‘em.” She slowly took a step back and raised her arms. She noticed the silver deputy’s badge pinned to his black vest before he spoke again. “That’s better. No one needs to get hurt. We’re gonna take a walk down to the sheriff’s office. Allow me to extend my personal welcome to Wuchu, ‘Avatar’ Korra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And plot happened! I spent ages going over the duel, I hope the final product translates what I had in my head to the page well enough. It was actually one of the first scenes I dreamt up when I started planning this story, it felt good to finally write it! Poor Tahno, gets his butt handed to him by Korra in like every AU I've read. What did you guys think? I'm really eager for feedback on this one since it's my first action piece. Also, chapter names: I originally intended to steer clear of these, but I've found it's a fun way to add flavor and tribute to the inspirations that have helped shape this tale. At its core this is a LoK story, but there's a lot of music, literature, movies and video games that inspire it. As is the case for this chapter, if the name is a song, I will link it down in these notes. Leave comments here, or over at my tumblr where my username is the same. Much love! -eckswhaixi
> 
> Additional notes/trivia:
> 
> Last chapter I had Korra loading her Sato Peacemaker incorrectly, so I went back and fixed it!
> 
> In the Old West, it was common practice to load your six-shooter "five in the wheel", leaving the chamber under the hammer empty for safety purposes. Korra loads her gun all the way because she's a badass and why have a six-chambered gun if you aren't going to put six bullets in it? Like real??!
> 
> Korra's shooting stance is a variation on the gunfighter's "fast draw" technique, just a little less efficient but way more style points. Link to a cheesy [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FPRdZMlx1w) if you're interested in what a fast draw by today's standards looks like.
> 
> Malaq is an OC, kinda wanted Tahno to have a dad for plot progression. I like the guy, wonder how his son turned out so rotten. Major bonus points if you figure out how I came up with the name!
> 
> [Big Iron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=999RqGZatPs) \- Marty Robbins


	5. Old Devils

Korra couldn't believe her stupidity. Months of laying low and careful planning, undone in a single night because she let the words of some drunk brat get under her skin. A groan echoed into the dark felt of the hat covering her face. She lay on a warped wooden bench in a cramped cell, one leg tossed over the side. The cell's only other decorations consisted of a refuse bucket in the corner and moldy straw covering the stone floor. Gray morning light shone through a tiny barred window near the ceiling, illuminating where a previous inhabitant had made the habit of notching lines into the wall above the bench to number their days. Korra took the hat off her face, occupying herself by counting all fifty-three of them again. She wondered not for the first time how the notches were made at all. 

Her musings were interrupted when the door of the sheriff's office burst open, the lawmen who had made themselves known as Sheriff Lin Beifong and Deputy Sheriff Mako stepping inside. Beifong walked up to the cell, Mako leaned against the wall next to the door and crossed his arms and one leg over the other.

"Done feeling sorry for yourself?" The sheriff asked through iron bars. She spoke with all the delicacy of a blacksmith's hammer shaping metal. When Korra didn't reply, she continued. "You'll be pleased to hear Mr. Malaq has decided against pressing charges. In fact, he sends apologies for his son's behavior. I suppose he's thankful. Tahno could've walked away a lot worse than some shrapnel in his hand, a broken nose and a bruised ego. If he managed to walk away at all, considering who he had the misfortune of drawing against."

Korra leaned her head off the bench, looking at the older woman. Beifong elected not to wear a hat today, wiry gray hair framing her face. A mean pair of scars ran down beneath her right eye, adding menace to her frown. She wore simple clothes, a black leather vest over a gray shirt, it's sleeves rolled above her elbows. Her sheriff's badge glinted gold over the left side of her breast, a six-pointed star looped by a circle. Black pants fed into the top of her walking boots, a matching belt and holster around her waist. Korra recognized the hefty firearm at her hip as an older model, a Metal Clan-produced .44 revolver. It was a slight unwieldy and lacked the sheer power of her .45 Peacemaker, but the bullets it fired were significantly bigger and would cause large-scale damage anywhere they landed.

"So does that mean you'll let me go?" Korra asked. It was worth a shot.

The sheriff snorted. "Of course, please be on your way, oh mighty 'Avatar'." Beifong walked over to her desk on the opposite side of the room. She sat down in a wooden chair, leaning back and resting her boots on the desktop, uncaring of the dried mud that flaked off onto important looking papers. Above her the large skull of an unfortunate antelope bull glared at Korra. The sheriff drew a thin hand-rolled cigar from a pocket on her vest, biting down on it before procuring a match as if by magic. She leaned up, striking the match on her boot, then held the guttering flame to the cigar's end and began to puff. Heavy smoke slowly filled the room, conveniently finding the exit through Korra's cell window.

The prisoner coughed at the pungent clouds and waved them away with her hat. "I said to stop calling me that," she told the sheriff.

"Why? I know you outlaws love the pet names the papers give you."

"You don't know the slightest damn thing about me," Korra's voice was a growl. She lay back on the bench, closing her eyes and placing the hat over her face again. From the desk she heard Beifong shift her chair, then the rustle of papers being moved around.

"'Avatar' Korra," the sheriff began. "I know that's a title you earned after commanding a series of impossible victories against an invading Northern Water Tribe force during the civil war. Your men and women worshipped their Lieutenant General like the legendary hero from the children's stories himself walked among them, hence the moniker. The papers covering the war had a field day with it, immortalizing your fame and proclaiming you the South's savior. Then you slipped up and inevitably lost. The war ended. Harbor City was sacked and the population massacred for their rebellion." Korra removed her hat, watching the sheriff silently.

"I know that your father and uncle, Chiefs of the South and North respectively, died under circumstances so wrapped up in black tape a badgermole couldn't dig out the truth, and then you disappeared. I know the newly formed United Water Tribes issued a bounty of fifty thousand yuans for your head, dead or alive, but failed to provide a reason." 

Beifong knocked her knuckles against a poster pinned to the wall near her desk as she paused. It was an illustrated portrait of Korra from her war days. Her hair was slightly longer and pulled back in military fashion, but otherwise it was like looking into a mirror. It gave her name, a detailed description and the large reward for her capture and deliverance to a Water Tribe official. The sheriff continued. 

"In case you didn't know, that's a lot of money. If the papers had a field day before, there was an absolute shitstorm after. A young female war-hero-turned-fugitive, worth a small fortune? Goldmine for the tabloids. I hear there's even rumors of a mover being produced in Republic City about you. What I don't know is what happened next. You vanished, minus a couple rumored sightings in the southern Earth Kingdom. Several caravans headed to resupply the United Water Tribes have been interrupted these last few months, not a single survivor left to identify the perpetrators. Wouldn't know anything about it, would you?" The sheriff looked up at her from where she leaned over a pile of documents, speaking through a screen of smoke. Korra remained silent. 

"Well, the next thing I do know is that my town is abuzz with the arrival of a mysterious Water Tribe woman, and Mako here telling me all about the well-armed stranger from down south his brother has taken in and her reluctance to show her face. That left a few dots to connect, and then I find you beating the shit out of a disarmed, drunk and fit-to-piss-himself Tahno." The sheriff gave mock applause. "Fine Avatarian work, that."

Now that her head had long since cleared, Korra wasn't too proud of it herself. She absorbed Beifong's tirade, going over what the woman mentioned and what she didn't, then finally spoke. "I take back what I said. But that's a lot for a country sheriff to know." 

The other woman shrugged. "I might've left the city, but that doesn't mean I've buried my head in all this desert sand. Keeping tabs on the goings-on out there fills the time between an occasional saloon fight or horse thief on the run. It's not exactly all a secret either, and I have a good source." The sheriff put out the remaining stump of her cigar. "Now, we need to figure out what to do with you."

"I say hanged by the neck at sundown," offered Mako, breaking his silence from his place by the door.

Beifong sighed and shook her head. "Spirits Mako, we aren't in Water Tribe jurisdiction. For better or worse I'm the highest law in dozens of miles, and as far as I'm concerned, the only crimes she's committed in Wuchu are the public discharge of a firearm and assault of a defenseless person, even if that person is a sniveling shit. This place would be a ghost town if we hanged for as much." She gave Mako a pointed look. He just nodded back, tipping his hat lower over his eyes. She turned back to Korra, her face serious. "That doesn't change the fact that you're a wanted criminal. Why, I don't know. But money talks and you had to do something worth a bounty that large."

Korra thanked the spirits that this woman was still sheriff, but she was also confused. "Aren't you going to exchange me for the reward?"

Beifong chuckled. However, her scars ruined any expression of mirth. "As much as I'd like to retire early, no. I'm a woman of the law, not a bounty hunter. If we gave you to the UWT, we'd probably never hear about you again and that'd be the end of it. No, I think we'll send you to my old stomping grounds in Republic City, let the council deal with it. I've still got a few favors owed to me. At least that way you'll receive a trial, and the United Water Tribes will have to open up on why they want you so bad. More interesting for everyone that way." Korra tensed. As much as she appreciated the woman's sense of justice, standing trial before the world would be distinctly uncomfortable. The sheriff pressed on.

"Besides, the quicker we get you out of Wuchu the better. Sooner or later, someone brave enough or dumb enough will decide the bounty on your head is worth the risk of breaking in here. Wouldn't be such a problem if someone had kept his mouth shut." Another pointed look was sent Mako's way.

Korra remembered the collective gasp that had gone up among the townsfolk when the deputy called her by name. What haunted her most from last night, though, was the look in Bolin's eyes when he stepped through the crowd, absorbing the scene occurring in front of his saloon and recognizing her at last. She couldn't tell what she saw more there, hurt, betrayal or fear, but it was a look she was used to from others. Not from Bolin. He was all easy smiles, effortless laughter and unending cheerfulness. She had only gotten to know the barkeep for a day, but she couldn't remember when the last time was that she had grinned or chuckled or felt like a human being, all in such a short time. She hadn't been able to look him in the eye when he came to deliver her things to Beifong. She wished she could have been Kya for a little longer. 

But she also knew it was selfish. The man had been harboring a monster with a past destined to catch up eventually. She reminded herself things were better this way, always had been and always would be. If she could spare at least one person pain, after what she had inflicted on countless others, it was worth it. 

Korra was broken from her reverie when she realized the sheriff was talking to her. "-the next train to Republic City." 

"I missed that, wh-" she started to ask, but Mako cut her off.

"Chief, the next train through Wuchu bound for Republic City is the Satos'." He had a look of urgency as he spoke to the sheriff. 

"Have I ever told you how weird it is that you keep track of your girlfriend's location?" Beifong deadpanned. "Anyways, what's your point kid?"

"I- she's not- we aren't-" Korra watched as the deputy who had been playing his cards cool until now blushed and stuttered like a school girl. Finally he got himself under control. "You pay me to keep track of that sort of thing. The point is, you want to put a dangerous criminal with a fortune on her head, in a train with the most influential and wealthy family this side of the Earth Kingdom. That's painting a target big enough for every bandit between here and Republic City to see."

The sheriff thought for a time, before replying. "I admire your dedication to your girlfriend's safety, but who better than the Satos? They have a small army and the safest train that could possibly be built. Discretion will be necessary, of course, but I can't think of a better solution." 

Mako looked like he wanted to say more, and for his credit didn't blush as hard at the mention of 'girlfriend', but Korra guessed that when Sheriff Beifong made a decision, it was set in steel. "Then let me go too," were the words he finally chose.

The older woman raised her eyebrows. "I'm surprised kid, but I knew you had guts. Taking the chance to make a move, not bad." 

Now Mako was shades of red Korra didn't know a human could turn. "That's not wh-"

"I know, I know, learn to take a joke Mako, for spirits' sake. Of course you're going, I'm entrusting you to deliver Miss 'Avatar' here to Republic City. Send a telegram to the next station over. Let the Satos know they have two more passengers coming on board."

•••

Four riders sat upon their mounts, looking out over the ridge. On the horizon crawled a beast of iron, steel and steam, white clouds mixed with black ash billowing into blue sky. Even at their distance, the ground trembled faintly beneath at the behemoth's passing. A piercing whistle echoed across the desert as it followed a silver line of tracks that caught the morning sun.

One of the riders lifted his bandana to spit over the side of his horse, then spoke in a voice like boulders being crushed together. "How much longer we waitin'?"

The man to his left remained silent, watching with the sharp, hardened eyes of a raptor hawk. Eventually, he replied without breaking his gaze. "Patience. Do not ask questions you already know the answer to." In contrast to the first speaker, his tone was almost conversational, pleasant, but cut like a blade. He turned to the tall woman at his side. "Gather the rest. Have them ready to ride." His eyes fell back onto their quarry. "Tonight, we make a few changes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter's dense and dialogue-y, but there was a lot I wanted to pack in to lay the foundations for what's to come. I hope it feels natural enough, bear with me! This story has been occupying my thoughts since I wrote the first words, and I'm really looking forward to where it's going. Things are starting to move. 
> 
> Also, guys, holy hell. Going back over your comments, and looking up there at the top, if I didn't have this story to finish I could die happy right now. Just that this has been looked at almost a 1000 times. F*ck. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart, all y'all!
> 
>  Eternal love!  
> -eckswhaixi
> 
> [Old Devils](https://youtube.com/watch?v=1-AXat2J-tQ) \- William Elliot Whitmore


	6. Iron Horse

The bars on Korra's cell swung open as Sheriff Beifong unlocked them. She tossed Korra a long duster, large hat and black bandana.

"All right Miss Avatar, cover yourself up, then hands out front," she ordered. Korra complied, buttoning up the top half of the duster, pulling the bandana high on her face and the hat low over her eyes. She extended her arms, wincing as irons were clasped tightly around her wrists. She would never get used to the feeling of shackles. 

Beifong led Korra out of the cell, then handed Mako a satchel that held her handgun and belongings. He took it as well as Korra's lever-action rifle, swinging them over his shoulder. The sheriff walked over to the window, peering down the street in both directions. Appearing satisfied, she spoke to her deputy. "Looks safe as it's going to get. Mount up and get clear of Wuchu as quickly as you can, then follow the tracks five miles north. The Satos have agreed to wait for you there after they pass through town." Mako tipped his hat in affirmation, then she turned steely green eyes on Korra. 

"I'm taking one hell of a risk. I don't like risks. But I don't like this whole Water Tribe business even more. It doesn't sit right, and my moral compass rarely points south. You don't strike me as the world-class villain the UWT has you painted to be, and they're hardly guiltless themselves. However, as overzealous he may be, Mako here has a damn fine eye. You step one toe out of line, my deputy has permission to return the Avatar to nothing but stories with a blast of buckshot and we're all fifty thousand yuans richer. If anyone else had found you, you'd likely be halfway to one of the Poles by now, so don't fuck up your only chance. Do you understand?"

"Loud and clear." Korra stated flatly. If she agreed? Different story. 

"Then it's high time for you two to get. Hope I'll be reading about you in the papers soon enough, Miss Avatar, and not about how you met an unfortunate end on a train to Republic City." Beifong opened the door to the sheriff's office, ushering them out. She gave Mako a nod as he followed Korra into the midday sun, then stepped out herself to watch them. 

Out front stood a tethering post where an old white quarter horse and a gallant brown mustang waited. Mako helped Korra onto the nag, then tied a lead rope to its halter. He took it after he mounted the other animal, then spurred forward with a loud "Hya!" 

They were on their way, the sheriff and her office receding quickly. The wooden facades of buildings and startled expressions of townsfolk blurred at the corners of Korra's vision as they galloped through twisting roads and side streets. Eventually Mako's route brought them clear of Wuchu's outskirts, and they were out in open desert. They weaved through cactuses and low brush, finding the line of wood and steel that would lead to Korra's next prison.

They followed the tracks and rode in silence under the hot glare of the sun. Korra watched the rise and fall of the deputy's already sweat-stained back as they galloped on. She was unbearably hot herself under the duster, wishing she could remove it now that they were far from the prying eyes of would-be bounty hunters. The irons around her wrists began to chafe in a way she knew all too well. The feeling was nauseating and the fearful sensation of entrapment began to claw its way up her chest. She swallowed it down, focusing instead on searching for a way to escape.

Korra's shackles limited the control she had over her horse's reins, and Mako's superior steed would outdistance hers in moments even if she managed to break away. She contemplated throwing herself from the mount now, but she knew it was just as pointless. The problem of her escort's mustang remained, and even if she escaped by some miracle, there was no where to run. No where but empty desert and Wuchu, neither of which were hospitable to her now. She let out a sigh, resigned to wait for an opportune moment to present itself and ignoring the unpleasant feelings welling inside. 

After a few more minutes of travel, Korra caught the first sight of their destination. She couldn't see much at first, but the distance closed quickly. Soon they were upon the awaiting train, approaching its rear and riding along its right side. She marveled at its length, counting well over a dozen cars decorated with red and gold paint before she stopped bothering. It was her first time up close to a locomotive. She had often watched them pass at a long distance during her travels through the desert, but they were a rarity any further south. Their size then was deceiving, this near to one she wondered how something so big and heavy in appearance could move at all. 

The steady hiss and puff of the idle steam engine reached them as they neared the front of the train, like the breath of a great sleeping beast. They reached the first passenger car, where Mako stopped and dismounted, then helped Korra do the same. He tied the lead rope on the nag to his mustang, then slapped it on the rump, sending the horses back the way they came. The car was big, large windows in its sides. On it was an emblem Korra and the entire rest of the settled world knew well, a scarlet half-cog set on a field of deeper red and framed in a gold pentagon. Beneath read "Future Industries" in similar gold lettering. 

Mako guided her in between the first and second cars, where they stepped onto a small platform that connected the two. Korra noticed the deputy take a visible breath before he reached up to knock on the entrance to the first car. Before his knuckles touched the metal surface however, the door opened on its own accord. An older man in the well-tailored dress of a butler stood on the other side. Korra caught the telltale glint of a holstered firearm at the man's side through the open front of his coat. Even the servants were armed, she noted. The butler looked at them both impassively.

"Deputy Sheriff Mako and the outlaw, I presume?" His voice was nasal just past the point of endearment. At Mako's nod, he asked, "She's unarmed, of course?" 

"Of course, and shackled to boot. Now, can we come in? It's damn hot out here," the deputy spoke impatiently.

"Yes. The master Satos await." The butler stepped to the side, holding an arm out in gesture to enter. 

Korra sagged with relief at the temperature change inside the car. She didn't know how, but the space was considerably cooler. The interior was well lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows and curtains that covered them, and it dappled on the expensive looking carpet that covered the floor. A few cushioned chairs sat about the room, and low bookcases ran along the car's walls. The faint smell of cigar smoke hung in the air. At the end opposite to them was a large varnished wood desk, and engraved on the front was the same symbol on the car outside.

Behind the desk sat a man late in his years, salt and pepper hair parted neatly on his head. A carefully trimmed moustache and beard decorated his upper lip and jowls. He was richly dressed in a fine suit in the Fire Nation style, and he stared at a document in his hands through a monocle. Korra recognized his face from the papers. Hiroshi Sato, head of Future Industries and involved in almost every industrialized business the world over, namely firearms production and locomotives. Behind him stood‒

Her breath caught. 

She had seen pretty. She had seen beautiful. Such words failed to describe the woman peering over the man’s left shoulder. Her onyx hair spilled over her shoulders and framed a face that should’ve belonged to a porcelain doll. Thin eyebrows furrowed above eyes colored like peridots and lidded with amethyst. Korra traced the woman’s delicate, pointed nose to her frowning ruby lips as she looked at the paper the man held. Her clothes were fine as well, but practical and suited to movement, not like the dresses most women of high status wore. Korra couldn’t see much beyond the fancy desk, but the woman’s black and crimson jacket was emblazoned with the symbol of Future Industries on both shoulders. She didn’t recognize her from any of the papers, but given her closeness to Hiroshi Sato she was likely important. 

When Korra and Mako entered, the two were engaged in conversation and the elderly man sounded frustrated. “Progress is down to a thousand feet a day on the eastern plains’ track. In one week, only six hundred rails have been spiked and nine hundred ties laid, which matches less than a third‒” his speech paused when they noticed the new arrivals, and he set down the document. 

Korra watched recognition bloom in their eyes as they simultaneously scanned Mako, warmth in Hiroshi’s and indifference in the woman’s. After a moment they both turned their gazes to her, now full of curiosity. She had the uncomfortable feeling she was being disassembled and put back together again, like a piece of new machinery they wanted to understand. Mako cleared his throat, stepping forward and removing his hat. He gestured behind him for Korra to do the same. She complied, pulling down the bandana as well. The clinking of her chains was the only sound in the car until Mako spoke up.

“Mr. Sato, Asami,” he began, but was interrupted quickly.

“That’s Miss Sato, Deputy Sheriff,” the woman snapped. Even in that tone, Korra found her voice pleasant. Mako froze, mouth agape and crimson spreading to his cheeks, but Hiroshi Sato saved him.

“Easy on the poor boy ‘Miss Sato’, I’m sure he meant no offense.” The older man chuckled warmly. “Mako, how are you? That old shrew Lin is still in charge of Wuchu it seems, can’t be much longer until she kicks the bucket. Then again, she is a Beifong.” Despite his words, they contained only fondness. 

Mako closed his mouth and cleared his throat again, “I apologize for the rudeness, Miss Sato.” She gave a terse nod. “I’m fine, Mr. Sato, and Sheriff Beifong is in as good health as it gets. Forgive us for the intrusion, it's my job to escort this outlaw to Republic City for trial. I objected to us traveling with you, but you know the sheriff…”

Hiroshi laughed again. “Even I know the Beifongs always get their way.” His eyes once again shown with curiosity as he looked back at Korra. “So, this young woman is the infamous ‘Avatar’ Korra. Irony, isn’t it, that a children’s hero’s name belongs to a criminal? Now the title is used by parents in the southern Earth Kingdom to scare their young into bed. 

"Well, no matter. Life is chock with ironies, as I’ve discovered.” At his words, Asami placed a protective hand on his shoulder, her stare now cold as she continued to observe Korra. Hiroshi reached up to pat it warmly, then continued. “No cause to worry, however. I’m sure Lin knew this was the best way to get a bounty as large as Korra’s out of her town, and she was right. Plus, this trip might prove more exciting with you two on board. We've already prepared a secure car near the caboose, Mr. Yamada will escort you there."

As if summoned at the mention of his name, the butler who had let them in appeared at Korra and Mako's side with a, "This way, if you please." Mako bid his farewells to the Satos and they replied in kind, then he and Korra placed their hats back on and followed the butler out of the car and into the next. 

They traveled for an eternity, passing over small platforms between cars and through so many doors that it all began to blur to Korra. Some contained living quarters, others resembled kitchens or supply rooms. One reminded her of the smithy and workshop where new recruits learned to break down their weapons and reassemble them back home. They passed many servants and guards, some of them busy with tasks, others standing attention. After noticing holstered weapons on most of them, Korra assumed everyone in the train was armed. Each space they passed through fell quiet as the occupants observed them, some instinctively moving hands to their weapons. The only sounds belonged to the thud of their boots on wood and metal, and the jingle of Mako’s spurs as they walked. They passed through two cars that contained baths, wardrobes and other utilities, and she couldn’t help exclaiming, “Shit, does it ever end? This place is like a mansion on wheels.” 

Mako turned to look at her over his shoulder with an eyebrow cocked as they continued walking. “The Satos spend more time in this train than they do at their home in Republic City. They travel constantly between towns and where their railways are being built to oversee progress.” He looked like he was going to continue, but seemed to remember who he was speaking with. The deputy fell silent and faced forward again. 

They exited the bathing car and entered the next after Yamada unlocked the door and slid a large bolt back. The butler walked through and finally came to a stop. The interior was simple and undecorated, empty except for seats in rows on both sides, much like Korra guessed a typical passenger train would have. Minus the iron bars that covered the windows outside. 

Yamada turned to face them and handed Mako a key. “She’ll be secure in here. You may stand guard outside, I or someone else will be along shortly to check on you.”

The deputy handed the key back. “Thanks, but that’s all right. I’ll stay in here, you can lock the door behind you.” The butler raised his eyebrows, but simply gave a nod and exited the way they came. Korra heard the lock on the door close, then a loud metallic thunk as the bolt was slid into place. Mako pointed her towards a bench in the middle of the car that faced the door, then drew his shortened coach gun from where it hid behind his coat and pointed it at her. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small ring of keys, then selected one and held it out to her. 

“Unlock one of those shackles and close it around the armrest. You heard the sheriff, no funny business.” He watched with focused amber eyes as she unlocked the shackle on her left wrist, then clasped it to the metal armrest at her side so she was chained to the seat. Satisfied, he slid his weapon home and stationed himself against the door, assuming a position similar to the one when he first walked into Beifong’s office. He tipped the brim of his hat low over his face, then rested his right hand inside the coat where she knew the grip of his gun waited.

Korra looked around, but found no immediate escape route available even if she managed to get loose of her irons. The only other exit was at the end of the car, where stood a heavy metal door that locked from the inside. She wondered if the deputy’s gun could blow a hole in the lock. Slowly, she lifted her right arm, testing the chain of her shackles without making a sound. 

“No moving,” came Mako’s stern voice from by the door. She looked up, incredulous to see his hat still obscured his eyes. She huffed, leaning back into her seat. At least it’s comfortable, she thought. She started to think of what to do next, but a loud whistle sounded from the fore of the train. The car they were in lurched forward abruptly and the view outside of the windows began to slide by. Her stomach clenched at the unfamiliar movement and she gripped the armrest. It passed, and she realized she had been holding her breath. She released it and relaxed. 

Korra could hear the faint chug of the engine all the way back at their end as it slowly built in tempo, then steadied into a quick rhythm. The landscape flew past rapidly now, the desert terrain melding into a gold and brown blur beneath the constant blue of the clear sky. The car’s only other occupant hardly seemed to be the conversational type, unlike his brother, and she wasn’t in a talkative mood herself. She settled with watching out the window. Her jail seemed to lack whatever it was that kept the Satos’ office cool, and the heat was stifling, reminding her of an oversized oven. It was still a large improvement over being stranded in the open sun however, and Mako didn’t seem to mind. Still, she wondered how people managed to carve out a living in such an infernal land.

Time passed, and Korra resolved she would have to wait for an opportunity to escape, if one ever presented itself. Heat, boredom and drowsiness overtook her, and after a while she succumbed to sleep.

●●●

Korra came to as loud knocks sounded on the door to the jail car. Judging by the warm hue of the sky as the sun made its western descent, she had slept for a few hours. She looked up at the sound of the door being unlocked, seeing Mako still leaning against it. Apparently the deputy had slipped into a nap of his own. The bolt slid back and the door opened outwards. She saw whoever was on the other side step nimbly out of the way as Mako fell backwards, landing with a painful sounding thud. She allowed herself some amusement at the scene.

“Mako! Are you okay?” came a concerned cry. Korra recognized the voice as belonging to Asami Sato. She stepped into view on the other side of the doorway, looking down at the flattened deputy and reminding Korra all over again how breathtaking she was.

Mako had startled awake by now, sitting up and looking around confusedly. He glanced up at the woman standing over him and froze for a moment. Then sense seemed to come back to him and he scrambled to his feet. “Yes Miss Sato, sorry. I...might’ve slipped off for a moment or two.” He looked away, ashamed.

Korra watched the concern on Asami’s face turn to anger and she let out a frustrated sigh. “Spirits, I thought she had gotten you. Didn’t Beifong send you to keep watch on her?”

“My apologies Miss Sato, won’t happen again, I promise,” Mako turned to her now, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You’re right, it won’t. I’ll station some of our men down here as well. This isn’t a game, Deputy Sheriff, and she’s too dangerous for us to make mistakes.” She pushed some of her hair back, once again the collected Sato Korra had first seen in the office car. “Regardless, I came to let you know my father has invited you to dine with us tonight.”

Mako still looked embarrassed, but regained some composure, and nodded. “Right, sorry, I understand. I’ll wait for someone to take over watch, then I’ll join you.”

Asami shook her head. “No, he wants both of you there.” She turned to Korra, her nose slightly crinkled. “And take her to get cleaned up after you ready yourself. She might be a vagabond, but she can’t go to dinner with the Satos dressed and smelling like one.” Korra fought down a flush and suddenly felt very self-conscious, aware how unclean she must be. She still wore the mud soiled clothes from the night before when she dueled Tahno, and being in a jail cell and traveling through the desert on horseback were hardly conducive to good hygiene. Having it pointed out to her by a woman like Asami was embarrassing in no slight measure. She started to sympathize with Mako, understanding how he lost his cool at the very mention of the woman. 

The deputy looked confused at her request before realization caught up with him. He started to color yet again, mouth opening and closing before he found words to rush out. “Oh. Um, I don’t know Asami. She might be a criminal, but she’s a lady. I’m not sure it’s entirely proper…”

Asami sighed again. “Do you only find your stones after a few drinks Mako?” In her exasperation, she seemed to forget about titles. “Fine. I’ll see to it, give me the keys to her cuffs.” He made to protest, but she held out a hand pointedly. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he pulled the key ring out once more to give them to her. “Good. You use the second car up, there should be something in the wardrobes you can wear. We’ll meet you in my father’s dining car.” 

“Okay, sorry again Miss Sato. Be careful,” he said with a glance in Korra’s decoration. Asami waved him out impatiently, then turned Korra’s way.

She walked over, at her right side a holstered handgun of a make Korra had never seen. It was oddly shaped by the look of the bizarre protrusion that extended past the butt of weapon. She was unnerved at the sight of a gun she hadn’t encountered, she had been up close and personal with most available firearms. Then again, this was the daughter of the Hiroshi Sato; it stood to reason she would have something unique. Asami was silent as she uncuffed Korra, stepping back and guiding her out of the room. Her green eyes never strayed as they made their way into the next car. 

Korra knew this was a good time as any to make a break for it, but a feeling in her gut stayed her. With her back to Asami, she couldn’t judge their distance, and something felt more dangerous about the way this woman carried herself that Mako lacked. She didn’t doubt that at one false move she would be riddled with bullets from the strange weapon Asami possessed.

They entered, and a tub to their right already waited with hot water that rippled at the train’s movement. Steam escaped the surface, catching the dying sunlight that painted the car’s interior in brilliant pink and orange. Asami finally spoke, “Stand to the side and don’t move. I’m going to pick something presentable for tonight.” 

Korra stood watching as she pulled out undergarments and a dress. She couldn’t keep back a gasp at the sight of it, it brought memories of home crashing to the front of her mind. The dress was long and flowing with sleeves that left the shoulders bare and would hang down loosely. Various shades of blue colored it and around the waist was a white fur trim. It reminded her of the dresses her mother wore on special occasions, and it was the first traditional Water Tribe apparel she had seen since leaving the south. She blinked back unexpected tears and looked away as Asami laid it on the floor. 

She faced Korra, pointing at the bath. “Get undressed and clean yourself, there’s a tray with a sponge and soap.” She walked across the car, sitting down in a comfortable looking chair and watching her with an unflinching stare. 

“Wouldn’t mind giving me some privacy, would you?” Korra asked hopefully. One part of her wanted to believe it was so she could make an attempt to escape, but the other felt that same self-consciousness rising again. She never had problems stripping down and bathing in the military, in front of men or women, both out of necessity’s sake and because she found no small pride in her muscular physique, as had her prior bedmates. But what she could see of Asami’s figure through the woman’s tight-fitting clothing, suddenly her muscles were little comfort. Those and the other unpleasant sights that waited were something she didn’t want to bare in front of such a gorgeous woman. 

“Not a chance. You lost the right to privacy when you earned a fifty thousand yuan bounty and were brought onto my train as a captive. Stop wasting time, my father is punctual about dinner,” came Asami’s reply. 

Korra frowned, then took off the duster and sat down to pull off her boots. Her feet ached with relief at finally being free of the uncomfortable things; she hadn’t had the chance to exchange them for a more suitable pair. She stood up and began to peel off the other clothes, glad to be rid of the dirty things as well. Only her undergarments remained, so she removed them. She placed them in a pile with the other belongings, then stretched before she got in the bath. Her back was to Asami, but she knew she had been watching the whole time.

“Where did you get those scars?” The younger Sato asked from her chair. Korra turned her head, keeping her back between them, and saw a slight frown on Asami’s face.

“Which ones?” She asked in return. She had amassed a fair collection.

“The ones criss-crossing your back. There’s a lot.”

Korra shrugged. “Water Tribe prisons aren’t the gentlest, and they don’t leave behind too many pretty memories.” Asami remained silent, so she stepped one foot into the bath, then followed with the other and sunk into the scalding water. 

A moan escaped her lips before she was conscious of it, and she felt hot bliss spread through her limbs. Muscles she didn’t know were tight began to loosen and her mind went blank with warmth as she submerged her head beneath the water. She stayed under until her lungs screamed, then came up gasping and appreciating the break of cool air over her face. She lay still for a time, mustering the energy to sit up. She did, reaching over and collecting the sponge and soap from where they waited by the side of the tub. She stood up in the bath, scrubbing and lathering herself clean, running soap-covered hands through her hair and untangling the many knots as best she could before laying back down. She submerged again, freeing the suds from herself and tried to do the same with the thoughts of Asami bathing in a similar manner that had bubbled up unwelcomely. Then, through the water, she could hear and feel footsteps moving across the car until they stopped next to her. She opened her eyes, looking up with blurry vision as the woman in question stood over the tub. Slowly, Korra brought herself up and broke the surface again. She blinked back the water in her eyes and saw more clearly. 

Asami had her gun drawn and pointed down at Korra. It’s long, thin barrel almost touched her forehead. She was thankful the water was soapy enough to obscure most of her nudity, but she questioned her own sanity when a thrill started in her chest and ran lower. Before she could stop the words, she spoke. 

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” She cursed herself internally for being an idiot. 

Korra thought she saw Asami’s lips quirk for the briefest moment at their corners, but between the heat and obvious lack of clarity she was demonstrating, she assumed it was imagination because the woman’s face was all alabaster steel again, matching her voice.

“I don’t know what you did, why you are here or what past you have. I also don’t know what you will do and what you are capable of, so I will make this clear only once. My father means the world to me, and I will not tolerate any threat to him. He seems to enjoy having you on this train, but if I had my say you would still be wasting away in Beifong’s cell. I am not inattentive like Mako, or a child who doesn’t know how to use a gun like that fool Tahno you disarmed in Wuchu. I do not make empty threats, and I do not miss. I will be watching you the entire time you are on this train, and if you look at my father with the slightest ill intent, I will kill you.” 

Korra heard only truth in Asami’s words, and it was reflected in the sharp green stare that met the blue of her own. She had been threatened and accused often in the last twenty-four hours, but none rang with such sincerity as the woman’s above her. 

She nodded slowly, causing ripples in the water. She searched carefully for the right words, trying to clear her heat-addled head. The weapon pointed at her made it easier. “That makes two of us who don’t want me here. For what it’s worth, I mean no harm to you and yours. I don’t want anymore blood on my hands.”

Asami didn’t break their eye contact for a long time, but whatever it was she was searching for she finally seemed to find in Korra’s face. She put her handgun away, then walked back to the chair and sat down again. “Get dressed, we have a dinner to go to.”

Korra released a breath, sinking into the water once more. It had cooled to lukewarm around her. This train ride felt far more complicated than it had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant this chapter and the next to be all in one, but then it would've been like as long as the entire story thus far and taken a couple more days to get out, so I ended with this! I'll probably be taking a few more days in between updates to give myself more time to proofread and polish better so I don't end up doing it after I've already posted. I want to write this story fast to get to the good stuff, but I don't want to rush it and sacrifice what quality it may have. Leave me your comments and thoughts and criticisms here or over at [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/eckswhaixi)! Thank you so much guys, see you in the comments and the next chapter! Much love -xyz
> 
> List of character weapons so far and their real world inspirations for the curious:
> 
> Korra's Sato .45 Peacemaker - Colt .45 Peacemaker  
> Korra's Water Tribe Rifle - Winchester M1873  
> Mako's Sawn-off Coach Gun - Colt 1878 Shotgun  
> Lin's .44 Metal Clan Revolver - S&W Model 3  
> Asami's currently unexplained handgun - (kinda sorta spoilers?) Borchardt C93
> 
> Writing this story has turned me into an Old West gun fetishist. I'd say the technology used in this story ranges from what we had in the 1860s up until the early 1900s, before the 1910s.


	7. Deadman's Gun

Korra toweled herself dry, moving over to where her selected evening clothes awaited. As she put them on, she didn’t feel much like a prisoner anymore, dressed in finery softer than any clothes she had worn in a long time and her shackles removed. Her wrists stung where they had started to chafe against her skin, but the soothing bath water had eased some of the pain. She took a comb from a nearby vanity and began to run it through her hair, pulling loose what knots remained. She looked in the vanity’s mirror as she did, startled to see a stranger reflected back at her. Her appearance brought old memories surging forth again, causing her to glance away out of discomfort. Her eyes fell on Asami, still seated in her chair. The woman’s green gaze still hadn’t strayed once.

“Don’t like the way you look?” She asked from across the car. “I think you clean up well for an outlaw.” Before Korra could reply, she stood up and walked over. She reached a hand up, pushing the hair along Korra’s face behind her right ear. Korra hoped her fluster at the sudden contact didn’t show. She managed to suppress a shudder as cool fingertips brushed along her skin, at least. Asami stepped back, appraising her handiwork, and nodded more to herself than to the object of her attention. 

“Presentable. Let’s go, that’s enough time wasted.” She turned around and made her way towards the door that led to the front of the train. Korra stood in place, wondering what happened. She usually had a good read on others, it had certainly helped during her stint of leadership in the Southern Water Tribe Army. This woman, however, eluded her. One moment she pointed a gun at Korra’s head, the next she tenderly caressed? Korra shook her head, unable to reach any conclusion but that the Satos were a complicated lot. She already missed Bolin, he was the kind of one-track, honest sort whose company she preferred. Instead of dwelling on that failed friendship for too long, she followed Asami out of the car.

The train they passed through was lively now as servants busied themselves throughout the kitchens and store-cars in preparation of dinner. A delightful array of smells met her nose as her stomach growled audibly. She hadn’t eaten since the bowl of cold porridge Beifong had served her in the cell that morning, which didn’t go a long way towards satiating her appetite. Many servants tipped their heads at Asami with a “Miss Sato” in their passing, some peering curiously at Korra in her Water Tribe apparel, others blatantly glaring. It seemed Asami wasn’t the only one who disapproved of her presence on the train. 

Before they entered the door that led to the dining area, Asami stopped on the swaying platform between cars and turned to face her. The ground rushed past in a blur at both sides, and the setting sun caught in Asami’s wind-tossed hair. Her face was all seriousness, her voice clear and sharp even over the buffeting wind and rumble of wheels on tracks. “Remember our agreement,” she stated.

Korra stifled a snort; she wouldn’t call the promise of lead in her brains an agreement so much as a binding contract. Still, she nodded. “Not even the slightest mean look your pa’s way.” It was enough to satisfy Asami, because she turned back around and opened the door.

When they entered the dining car, Hiroshi and Mako were already seated at the opposite end of a long table from them. The older man was dressed as he had been that afternoon in the office car. Mako, however, was a changed person in fine clothes and his hat removed. He wore a black dress coat over a collared white shirt, his red bandana now tied about his neck in a fashionable manner and his hair styled neatly. His deputy badge glinted on his chest, freshly polished. In almost any other situation, Korra would’ve given him an appraising whistle. 

The men stood at their arrival and Hiroshi pulled out the chair to his right for his daughter. Mako looked at Korra awkwardly, apparently unsure whether or not to extend her the same courtesy. She spared him the decision, choosing a seat at the end opposite the others and sitting down. The deputy seemed relieved, and the rest sat as well. Just as they all had settled, the door behind Korra swung open and a train of servants entered bearing covered platters and table settings. Soon, she had before her a steaming plate of some red meat she couldn’t name served with mashed potatoes, greens and rolls. The heartiness of the meal surprised her, and she tucked in with abandon. Years of quick mess hall meals had trained her in the art of rapid consumption. Only after she was well over halfway through the plate did she realize the others hadn’t begun eating. She glanced up at the array of expressions across their faces, all turned her way.

Mako looked aghast, she thought she saw revulsion in Asami’s eyes and Hiroshi simply watched amusedly. After a moment, he was the first to speak. “Let it be said that the Satos don’t starve their charges. I’m glad you find the meal to your liking, Korra.”

Korra was far too hungry to be embarrassed by her own poor table manners, but she managed a reply through a mouthful of food. “Is dinner like this every night?”

Hiroshi shrugged, a slight smile still on his face. “More or less. Sometimes towns are too far in between to keep stock of fresh ingredients, so we like to treat ourselves well when we can.”

She chewed and swallowed. “Hmph. Maybe you and Lin were right, this was the best way to get me out of town. I reckon I could get used to it here.” It was no lie, she may be the Satos prisoner, but the treatment she received was worlds away from her prior detainment experiences. Except for the unpleasant conditions of her jail car during the daytime, the facilities were nice, the food delicious and the sights were, well, quite something to take in. She wished her circumstances were different, so she could stay. If anything, however, Wuchu had proven the folly of such fantasies. 

Hiroshi laughed now, and readied his cutlery to begin eating as well. “As long as you behave I see no reason for you not to make yourself at home. Think of yourself as our guest, albeit a closely watched one.” Korra heard only genuineness in his words, and it took her slightly aback. She had assumed the Satos were only about keeping up appearances, even when it came to wanted criminals. Such would be expected from the leaders of one of the world’s most successful businesses. But the man across the table from her was homely and warm, far from the powerful and intimidating portraits the papers displayed. 

Hiroshi readied his first bite, but realization struck him. “Oh, but where are my manners? Would you care for something to drink? I have a vintage red that pairs well with steak, if I say so myself.”

Now she thought of it, she knew what she craved. “Do you have coffee and shot of whiskey?”

Hiroshi’s eyes lit up. “Of course, only the best! A genius combination! It’s a shame I hadn’t thought of that sooner, I’ll need to try it myself.”

“I can’t take credit, that belongs to Mako’s brother,” she replied.

“Ah Bolin, the man knows his drinks. It’s been too long since I’ve stopped in at Pabu’s, these legs aren’t what they used to be. The red for you, Asami?” His daughter nodded, taking a dainty bite from her plate. “And you, Mako?”

“I’ll have the wine too,” the deputy answered. Hiroshi reached beneath the table and a bell sounded. Shortly, Yamada entered and took their requests. They all turned to their meals now, eating in silence. A few minutes after he left, the butler returned bearing their drinks and a spare bottle of wine. He set them down and departed again.

Korra had finished most of her plate by now, so she took a sip of her drink and observed the others. It wasn't quite as good as when Bolin served it to her, but Hiroshi seemed to be relishing his own cup. Asami and Mako drank their wine and continued working at the meal. Korra noticed that during dinner they had managed to look everywhere in the car but at each other. A mischievous thought occurred to her.

"Asami, Beifong mentioned you and Mako have a history. You two a thing?" She knew the question was far from her place, but she felt like taking some of the high-and-mighty wind from their sails. Besides, she was genuinely curious what lay between the two. She waited for their reaction.

Mako visibly blanched and his fork clattered to his plate from where it had been traveling towards his mouth, spattering mashed potatoes on the table and front of his fancy coat. Hiroshi coughed violently as he had been taking a drink, nearly spraying the coffee and whiskey cocktail everywhere. His shoulders shook, and at first Korra thought the poor man was choking, but she realized he was laughing when he finally managed a wheezing guffaw. Asami's head snapped up at her, her expression at first unreadable and cheeks slightly flushed, whether by the question or wine Korra didn’t know. She turned a livid glare on her father, halting his laughter instantly, then brought it back to Korra, her voice seething.

"The Deputy Sheriff and I are nothing but childhood acquaintances, and frankly that's none of your business. I don't see why that should matter in the slightest to someone like you." Her fury rounded on Mako. "What kind of lies have you been spreading in Wuchu?"

"None! She just overheard the sheriff teasing me earlier," he sputtered. Korra almost began to feel bad for the deputy as he wilted under the younger Sato's stare. Still, it was worth it to see someone else suffer her ire. The reaction had been better than expected, but left more questions than answered; she wondered what had Asami so wound up.

Heavy silence hung over the table after. Mako took his napkin and wiped his front clean, then started pushing the potatoes on his plate around, suddenly finding them very interesting. Asami angrily poured herself more wine and drank, glaring at nothing in particular. Hiroshi looked between the two, then his eyes met Korra’s. He shook his head and sighed. 

“Dessert anyone?” He asked hopefully. His daughter huffed, then pushed her seat out roughly and stood up, swaying slightly and not because of the train’s motion. She must be an awfully light drinker, Korra thought. She had barely started to feel the whiskey.

“That’s enough for tonight. I’m going to retire, see the outlaw back to her car, Deputy Sheriff. Good night father,” Asami told them, the anger drained from her words. She only sounded tired. 

“Asami–” Hiroshi started, but before he could finish she walked past, patting him on the shoulder as she did and made her way out the door behind him. He frowned, then looked at Mako disapprovingly much like he had at the report earlier in his office. “Young man, this is when you’re supposed to go after her.”

The deputy continued looking down at his plate. “Mr. Sato forgive me, but I don’t think that’s rightfully my place,” he muttered. 

“Then if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to talk with Korra in private,” Hiroshi stated seriously. Mako looked up now, surprise and confusion written in his features. Korra imagined her expression looked the same. What did the old man want to discuss?

“Sir, Asami asked me to take her back to her car, and she wouldn’t ever let you be alone with a criminal like her,” Mako protested and pointed at Korra. Hiroshi’s smile was back again.

“I know my daughter well enough, Mako, but an old man like myself doesn’t often have the chance to entertain conversation with pretty ladies. We’ll go to my study in the next car up, you can remain here in earshot if you wish, but I don’t think I have much to fear for,” he said. Korra wondered at his reasoning and the meaning behind his words. 

Mako made to protest more, but Hiroshi was adamant. Finally, the deputy relented. “Okay Mr. Sato, but I’ll be right outside. Holler the instant you need me.” 

“Thank you Mako, and be sure not to let Asami know. She’d have all three of our heads in a heartbeat,” he chuckled. “Miss Korra, if you’d be so kind as to get the doors, I’m afraid it’s a bit awkward for me.” Korra’s confusion only continued to mount, but she didn’t refuse. The man had her curiosity. She stood, moving down the table’s side towards the door behind Hiroshi. She felt Mako’s eyes on her the whole way, the deputy now fully alert. 

Realization struck her when she passed the table and saw Hiroshi in his entirety for the first time. He sat, waiting in a four-wheeled chair for her to open the doors that led into the next car. She had seen men and women under her command reduced to traveling in similar contraptions after losing limbs to the war, but all of Hiroshi’s remained. She didn’t press, however, instead entering the study car and waiting for Hiroshi to follow. The interior was comfortably lit by a few lamps, and bookcases similar to those in the office car lined all the walls except for where they were interrupted by a liquor cabinet. A low table sat across from it, near the center and to the left side of the car, flanked by two plush seats. She stepped out of the way as Hiroshi wheeled himself in and over to the farther chair. She looked back, seeing Mako walk onto the platform in between the cars, closing and leaning against the first door. She closed the theirs, turning inside again. 

Hiroshi stopped at the table, opening a wooden box that sat on top and took out a cigar. “Do you smoke?” He asked. Korra shook her head in reply, so he closed the box after placing the cigar in his mouth. He maneuvered next to the chair, then stopped. “It’s not very host-like of me, but could you help me into this?” He asked again, gesturing at it. Korra hesitated, wondering if the man was insane. Here they sat, one a defenseless, crippled old man, the other a criminal in her prime and his prisoner. It would be the easiest thing, she thought coldly as she walked over to him, to end his life before he had a chance to cry out.

But then what? 

Killing Hiroshi wouldn’t be an opportunity to escape, it would be an opportunity to murder, and her shoulders were already burdened with enough. She would still be unarmed on a train hurtling through the desert, filled to the brim with armed passengers that would turn on her like angry buzzard wasps, not to mention Asami. She shivered at the thought of what that woman would do if she angered so much at a slight quip over dinner. Their ‘agreement’ was still very fresh in Korra’s memory. She already had an entire nation and countless bounty hunters after her, she didn’t need to add Future Industries to the list. 

Korra reached down and put her right arm under his shoulders and around his back, heaving him upwards and guiding him to the seat. He sat down and adjusted himself, wincing with the effort. He settled, giving Korra an appreciative smile. “Thank you dear. I hate to impose further, but in that cabinet is a bottle of unopened scotch that’s probably older than you. Would you bring it out? Go ahead and open a window so the smoke can clear,” he said as he drew a cigar clip and matches from a pocket on the front of his dress coat. He prepared the cigar and lit it as Korra went about doing as he requested. She found the bottle he spoke of, bringing it and two rounded scotch glasses to the table, opening it and pouring them some of the amber liquid. She handed Hiroshi his, then leaned back in her chair and sipped hers, watching him warily over the brim. It was good stuff, silky smooth and full of flavors that cascaded across her tongue.

“What’s the occasion?” She asked, bringing the glass away from her lips. “You don’t open bottles like this for the sake of it.” 

“It’s not too often I have a guest of your fame on board, if you’d believe it. I strive to make good impressions,” Hiroshi said. “Besides, I’ve been looking for an excuse to crack it open.” 

“I see. Well it’s a damn fine drink.” Hiroshi looked pleased at her reply. “But be straight with me. You don’t close yourself off with a fifty thousand bounty head to shoot the shit,” she continued, and he barked a laugh.

“You’re just like my daughter, quick to the point and down to business. I think you two would make great friends,” he said, then gave her a slight shrug. “I’m sorry if I disappoint, but I meant what I told Mako. I’d simply enjoy some company during my after-dinner drink and cigar. Usually Asami joins me, but not tonight thanks to a certain outlaw. You know, that was quite tactless what you said back there. The boy can be idiotic and Asami could stand to relax, but those two need to get through their issues with each other on their own terms.” 

“I was just trying to make conversation.” By the way Hiroshi’s eyebrows raised, she didn’t think he believed her. “I don’t have a good way with words,” she said. That part was true, she had never been known for her silver tongue. “But what issues might those be? Your daughter was awfully upset.”

Hiroshi sighed. “As they say, hell hath no fury. I’m afraid it’s not for me to share. Korra, I appreciate your blatant, if somewhat brazen, attitude, spirits know it’s a refreshing change from being fawned over, but some matters require a little more delicacy,” he told her. 

“Then it’s my turn to disappoint Mr. Sato, me and delicacy have never gotten along too well,” she replied.

His lips quirked upwards in a slight smile, and he leaned forward to ash his cigar in a dish on the table. “I can imagine. So tell me, how is it that you ended up on my train?”

“I thought you knew. Sheriff Beifong caught me after my duel with Malaq’s boy, if you’d call it that,” she said, but Hiroshi waved her words away.

“I heard all about that business, but that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about before this. How did the South’s poster-girl end up a fugitive from the law? The Water Tribe civil war was long and bloody, but it’s over now. Why do they still want you?”

Korra looked into her cup for a time, wondering how much she could trust this man. Not a lot, she reckoned, but what harm was there in talking to him now? She was already halfway to Republic City where the truth would be bared anyways, so she replied. “The North promised amnesty for our surrender at the end of the war. Everyone had tired of all the fighting. I was against it, but my father and the other Tribe leaders conceded. I was in the field when I heard, but by then it was too late. The deal was nothing more than typical Northerner lies, of course. When I made it back to Harbor City, they...I…” Words were hard to find now, as her throat started to close and nausea filled her stomach. “I was captured, but managed my own escape. I did things I’m not proud of, what I could to make the North’s occupation less comfortable, but it was useless.”

“So you ran away and the United Water Tribes issued their bounty,” Hiroshi stated. Korra started to turn on him angrily at the accusation, but his expression wasn’t blaming. “I’m sorry,” he followed. She sighed and took a drink of her scotch. 

“What does it matter to you? The way I look at it, you only profited from the war,” she said, with a little more bitterness than she intended. Both sides had commissioned the Satos’ handiwork during the conflict, only the North had more access and funding for the superior weaponry. That alone had put a large number of her men in the ground. 

Hiroshi looked pained now. “I’m afraid there’s no excuses I have that wouldn’t make me sound like a conniving businessman, but I take no pleasure in bloodshed. My wife always hated that side of Future Industries. We would argue about it endlessly.”

Korra forgot some of her resentment at the mention of Asami’s mother. “Where is Mrs. Sato now?”

“She passed of consumption three years ago. Now the same disease has a hold of my spine, no small irony,” he said sadly but wryly. “Maybe it’s a token atonement for what I’m responsible of, but it was then that I scaled back firearms production and took this company towards more altruistic pursuits. No matter how far I spread my rails or how fast I design my next locomotive, I know I can’t escape my decisions, but that isn’t what Future Industries stands for. ‘Inventing tomorrow, today,’” he quoted the company’s motto with a small smile. “Maybe that’s something you should take to heart too.” 

“If only it was so easy,” she replied resignedly. “I’m not sure what I’m responsible for can be laid to rest in a lifetime.”

“Well, you strike me as repentant, and that’s something of a start. Besides, if Lin saw fit to send you to Republic City there’s hope yet. I’m curious to see what turns up during your trial myself, so you can count at least two of the city’s movers and shakers weighing in on the outcome.”

“What’s Lin’s opinion got to do with it?” She asked, and his amused expression returned.

“You didn’t know? She used to be Republic City’s Chief of Police before she retired and left for the middle of nowhere, something to do with triad trouble that her boys Mako and Bolin got into. Between her former position and powerful last name she still has quite the sway there.”

It was a lot to take in, but she blurted out the first question that came to her. “She’s Mako and Bolin’s mom?”

“Spirits no, that woman is a spinster through and through. She picked the boys up off the street after their parents had passed,” Hiroshi replied. Korra nodded in understanding. 

Maybe Hiroshi was right, she thought as a small glimmer of hope did start in her chest. She had lost faith in authority and justice a long time ago, but at least a few honest folks remained out there. The surrealness of her situation struck her, as she sat sipping scotch worth more than she had likely possessed in her life with one of the world’s most powerful men. “Thanks, Mr. Sato,” she said, and she meant it.

He grinned and started to say something, but was interrupted as the train suddenly braked and the deafening screech of wheels sounded on the tracks. Their seats nearly toppled over and the drinks spilled from their hands as the cigar box and ashtray flew off the table in front of them. Korra looked around wildly in confusion as the train halted and they settled. “Why are we stopping?”

Hiroshi wore a deep frown, looking shaken. “We shouldn’t be. Pull that rope on the wall.”

She stood up and complied, sounding a bell like the one he had at dinner. At least a minute passed before the door opposite the one they entered opened, and Yamada rushed inside. The butler looked very worried. 

“Yamada, what’s the meaning of this?” Hiroshi asked, and Korra believed it was the first time she had heard such sternness in his voice. 

“Sir, as you know we approach the Great Divide and Bosco Bridge,” he said, wringing his hands nervously.

“Of course I know, I’m asking why we stopped,” Hiroshi said.

“Well, you see sir, the bridge...It’s gone,” Yamada stated. 

“What do you mean it’s gone? How?” Hiroshi asked incredulously.

“We’re not sure sir, we can’t make it out from here with it being night. Some of the men have been dispatched to investigate and we’ve already telegraphed ahead to Republic City to inform them of the delay.”

Hiroshi looked angry now, and Korra began to see how he commanded the respect of his peers and the papers. Gone was the homely, fatherly Sato. “Bring back those men this instant, I want everyone on this train and at alert, a bridge like that doesn’t collapse on its own. Go and check on Deputy Mako, see if he made it through the stop without being thrown from the platform. Korra, help me into my wheelchair.”

She moved from where she stood, following his orders without hesitation before she realized it. As she did, Yamada rushed to the door that Mako had been standing guard behind and swung it open.

Then the back of his head erupted with gore, decorating the interior of the car with bits of skull and brain. The gunshot had left Korra’s ears ringing, and Yamada’s lifeless form crumpled at the foot of the doorway. Through a cloud of smoke and powder the well built frame of a man stepped over the body. Salvos of gunfire sounded throughout the train as firefights started between its occupants and whoever was attacking.

“A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Hiroshi Sato,” the figure said, and Korra stiffened with recognition. She and Hiroshi had froze, having just started to raise him from the plush chair.

Hiroshi seemed to notice her reaction. “Do me a favor, set me down and lock the other door,” he said quietly.

“But your daughter?” She whispered back.

“That is exactly why I’m asking you. Do it now!”

She did as Hiroshi asked and moved slowly backwards to the other end of the car. The figure had moved farther into the car, smoke cleared and illuminated by the lamps. A head of shaggy dark hair tinged with gray hung to his shoulders, most of his faced covered by a gray bandana. He held a large handgun aloft in his right hand, complete with two barrels. She recognized the rare and fearsome weapon well. The longer, thinner barrel fired the gun’s nine-chambered .42 rounds, but the one beneath it was shorter and wider, meant to shoot an 18-gauge shotgun shell housed in the cylinder’s center. Wisps still escaped from the latter. A scar notched the eyebrow over the man’s left eye, his gaze hard and calculating as he took in the car. He looked at Hiroshi with something like contempt, then spotted her. He raised his eyebrows.

“I wondered why that young deputy had this,” he said as he reached into the front of his long, worn coat with his free hand and pulled forth her Sato Peacemaker. Korra had reached the door now, grasping behind her to try and find the lock, but stopped when the man leveled her own gun at her.

“Korra,” he said. “I thought you were dead.”

“You sure left me for it, Zaheer,” she replied.

“The Red Lotus had given you up for lost. Not many walk away from those kind of bullet wounds and a tumble over a cliff. Those hounding marshalls didn’t give us a chance to think twice, really. I’m curious as to why you didn’t find us again. You didn’t forget, did you?” Zaheer asked.

“I just realized I was awfully tired of shooting and being shot at, seemed like a good time to make a career change,” she answered back. 

He gave a mirthless laugh. “I’d say keep looking, dresses don’t suit you. Why are you on the Sato train to Republic City?”

“Got caught in Wuchu, they’re having me stand trial.”

“So you’re a prisoner here? You don’t look much like one,” he started, but Hiroshi interrupted them.

“Korra, you didn’t tell me you’d have friends visiting. To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Zaheer?” he spoke from the chair, but looked at her pointedly before addressing the man. He was settled now, looking calm despite the sounds of combat throughout his train and present situation. Zaheer turned to him. Korra took the chance to make one more attempt at locking the door, finding the deadbolt behind her and sliding it home. 

“As much as I’d like to stay and mince words, Mr. Sato, I’m afraid I don’t have much time,” Zaheer told him. As if on cue, the train lurched back into motion and started to crawl along the tracks once more. “A shame, because I’m told you have a way with conversation. To get to the point, I’m here to cut the proverbial head off of the iron snake.” He turned to Korra, gesturing his way with her gun. “Come here.”

She walked across the car, wondering how much distance lay between the train and the absent bridge. When she reached Zaheer, she waited to see what he wanted, watching him carefully. She was surprised when he turned her Peacemaker around, offering her the grip of the gun. He held his own gun pointed at her now, but spoke, his tone kind. “The Red Lotus misses its Avatar. Shoot him and escape with us, just like old times.”

Korra reached out slowly, taking the familiar feel of her weapon into her hand. She could tell its chambers were loaded as she hefted its weight. She turned to Hiroshi, her brow creasing as she pointed the barrel of the Sato-made weapon at his chest. He stared back into her eyes, upon his face a sad smile.

This was it. A better opportunity couldn’t have galloped up and slapped her across the face. All she had to do was put a bullet into the heart of her captor and she could disappear into the desert with her old gang. Let the world think she had perished with the Satos, let the Avatar fade back into those stories. No need for risking the folly of the justice system, no need to be anyone’s prisoner, no need for those shackles to go back on her wrists. She only had to leave one more body in her wake, a dying old man nearing the end of his days anyways. 

Her line of thought broke when the handle on the door across the room rattled, then pounding sounded on the otherside. 

“Father! Are you in there? What’s going on? Father!” The voice was muffled, but unmistakable as Asami’s. Hiroshi’s features turned ashen as fear ran across them.

“I’m okay Asami,” he shouted back. “I’ll be there in a moment!” He looked at Korra now, pleading. “I don’t care what happens to me, but I’m begging you not to harm her. Just remember what we‒”

His words cut short with the blast of a gunshot, and a hole opened above his heart. He looked down in pained confusion as blood started spilling forth. The pounding on the other side of the door had stopped, the only sound in the car the gurgling wheeze escaping him. He made an effort to reach up to the wound with his hand, but it fell limp just short. His crippled body sagged and his head lolled to the side, an expression of concern frozen forever on his face.

Korra watched on the whole time, her gun still pointed at Hiroshi’s corpse. Comprehension caught up to her and she whirled her head towards where the gunshot had come from. A giant of a woman crouched in the doorway behind Zaheer, her arm extended and at the end of it a sixgun that still smoked. 

“Zaheer, we need to leave now! We detached the supply cars, Ming-hua should’ve finished up with the deputy. We’re moments away from the Divide,” she boomed. The train had picked up in speed. 

“Damnit P’li!” Zaheer yelled frustratedly, but made to grab Korra’s arm.

Rapid shots sounded from the other end of the car as Asami fired into the door, then kicked it open. It occurred to Korra just what the whole scene must look like as she lowered her weapon. She watched the woman’s world fall apart right before her eyes as she took in the car, looking from Korra and the Red Lotus members to her father’s body. Her brows narrowed with confusion, then her features trembled. 

“Dad?” She asked, and the way her voice broke wrenched Korra’s heart. She saw too much of her own pain reflected in Asami’s face. Then that pain twisted into ferocity as she looked back up at them, taking on an expression that chilled Korra more thoroughly than any arctic storm could have. She barely had time to rip free of Zaheer’s grasp and throw herself to the floor before Asami whipped her gun on them and unloosed bullets quicker than any firearm should be capable of. 

A thousand thoughts raced through her head as she hid from the gunfire. None of this was what she wanted, none of this should have happened. Another innocent life had been taken, another innocent life had been ruined. Her heart was heavy and she was tired, so tired. Hiroshi had shown her nothing but tolerance, trust and kindness, and she had almost killed him for the chance to escape. What kind of monster was she? Maybe behind bars or another, more permanent solution were what she deserved.

Abruptly the gunfire on Asami’s end stopped. Korra looked up, seeing the woman pulling frustratedly on the trigger but to no avail. She swore, hitting the gun’s unique frame with the heel of her hand. Korra craned her neck back where Zaheer had been, only finding empty space. She saw him round into the doorway from outside the car, his gun raised and trained on Asami. 

Only Hiroshi’s last words occupied her thoughts as she sprung to her feet with as much speed she could muster in the restricting dress, stepping into Zaheer’s way and leveling her Peacemaker at him. His eyes widened in surprise, but before she could shoot he turned his weapon on her. Fire blossomed in her right shoulder as he discharged it, the impact of his bullet twisting her about and throwing her down once more. She looked up at him, gripping her shoulder and wincing in agony as he made to finish the job, but suddenly P’li’s long arm wrapped around him and pulled him to the side, off the train. 

Korra knew she didn’t have time to be thankful for her life. She pushed herself up with her left arm, her right hanging uselessly at her side. She picked her Peacemaker up from where it had fallen and tucked it into the fur around her waist, turning to Asami. She had frozen in place, watching Korra with confusion.

“We need to get off this train now,” she shouted at the paralyzed woman. “We’re about to go over the edge of the Divide!” She closed the distance between them, grabbing her by the arm before Asami could react and pulling her towards the door the Red Lotus had disappeared through. She met resistance.

“I can’t leave him here!” Korra stopped at the hysteria she heard in Asami’s voice. She knew its like all too well, seeing it up close in many a recruit’s first battle. Korra looked at her, all the rage in her face replaced by fear and confusion. She was staring at where her father lay, her eyes starting to brim. 

There were other ways to go about this, but Korra took the quickest. Time was not their luxury. She released Asami’s arm, drawing her weapon out again.

“Asami, I’m sorry. For all of this.” Before she could turn to reply, Korra brought the butt of her gun against the back of her head and she crumpled to the floor. Not wasting a moment, Korra tucked her Peacemaker back and crouched, lifting Asami with her left arm under the unconscious woman’s shoulders. As Korra stood, the train shuddered and groaned as the front cars reached the end of the line. 

She panted and sweated as she made her way awkwardly towards the door again, ignoring the blinding pain in her shoulder. Just as she reached the doorway, the floor beneath her started to tilt. Maybe it was sheer adrenaline that caused her right arm to move, because it shot forward and grasped the frame. She screamed as loudly as her muscles, pulling her and Asami through the doorway and to the side just as the car turned nearly vertical. She slammed into the wall of the car’s exterior, as it was now beneath her. She closed herself off from the pain and vertigo, pushing herself up with an effort made no easier by gravity and the slippery blood pouring from her shoulder. With no other options, she wrapped her arms around Asami and flung them both into open space. 

If she had been capable of coherent thought, she would’ve thanked the spirits as she saw the moon-glimmering surface of water rush up to meet them. The train had reached the river first and it buckled on contact with an earsplitting crash and screeches of tortured metal. The sounds had just reached Korra’s ears over the rush of wind when they impacted with bone-breaking force. Asami was wrenched from her as she sunk beneath the surface, the Water Tribe dress quickly pulling her down into the icy depths. She looked up from beneath, hearing the groans of the doomed train all around her. Her last sight before black closed her vision was of the rippling moon, stained red with her own blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. This chapter took me way too long, forgive me! I was sitting on like 75% of it for the last week, but I suffered the paralysis of writer's block for the first time. I've known for a very long time what I wanted to happen, but how was the question! I hope you enjoyed what it ended up being, if enjoyed is the right word haha...
> 
> I thought about putting a warning on this chapter, but I didn't want to spoil anything. I think I'll leave warnings out from now on. This story will for sure have swears and lots more violence, but if you're this far I think you can handle it ;)
> 
> I want to thank you guys for your continued feedback and comments! They're all just so great, I read and memorize like everyone! I like to wait until the next chapter is posted to go back and reply, but they always fire me up while I'm writing. I can already be 100% honest and say I wouldn't be this far along by now if it weren't for the interest you guys show. So I've said it before, will say it now, and will keep saying it until the end. Thank you!
> 
> For the chapter itself, let me know what you think about it, and where the story is headed! Here on AO3 is lovely, and so is [tumblrland](http://eckswhaixi.tumblr.com/)! Endless love -xyz
> 
> Notes/trivia:
> 
> Zaheer's gun was a real thing like most in this story, called the [LeMat Combination Revolver](http://www.historicreplicaguns.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/22-1070g-e1277919247870.jpg), and it's SO F*CKING COOL!
> 
> [Deadman's Gun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hjQiY_B8-g) \- Ashtar Command


	8. Lone Star

The arctic chill bit through her furs as she climbed the steps to Harbor City's central hall, a gentle wind blowing fresh flakes of snow into her face and hair. The building had served as an interim base of command since the start of the civil war, but as the conflict drew on longer than either side expected, it had been renovated to include a barracks, armory and grounds for recruits to drill. She had almost forgotten how it looked before its additions, a grand feat of architecture and pride of the city. Now it resembled something more of a fortress with its new defenses and constant patrols. 

She neared the top of the stairs where two guards stood posted in front of the building's heavy doors. They saluted as she passed and she spared them a nod before pushing inside. It was almost as cold within, but she didn't mind. She made her way out of the entrance chamber, but stopped when she heard a familiar deep bark and the pad of paws on the hard floor behind her. She turned just in time to prepare herself as a massive polarbear dog barreled into her with reckless enthusiasm, throwing its hefty front legs onto her shoulders and nearly knocking her flat. It took all her strength not to topple, but she steadied by leaning into the beast and a rare chuckle escaped her as it tongued the side of her face with a welcoming kiss.

“Easy Naga, easy!” She said, and Naga whined in return. The polarbear dog dropped its paws to the floor again, still towering over her head. She wrapped her arms around the warm fur of its neck, burying her face into it and allowing herself a moment of comfort at the nostalgic feel. “I missed you, big girl,” her words muffled. Naga gave a happy woof, wagging her giant tail and nuzzling against the crook of her shoulder. 

“All right, can’t keep the man in charge waiting,” she said as she stepped back, but Naga took the opportunity to give her another sloppy kiss, this time across the front of her face. “Blah! Gross!” She shouted and wiped herself clean with the sleeve of her coat, but couldn’t keep back a more full-bodied laugh. She patted her hound affectionately on the head. “Thanks girl, I probably needed that,” she said, then turned to continue on her way. Naga followed close behind, her claws clicking and echoing off corridor walls until they reached the wooden double doors that led to her destination. As they neared the doors swung open on their own from within, and a man wearing a self-satisfied smirk stepped through. 

She stopped in place and stiffened into a salute. “General Tarrlok,” she said, hoping the intense disdain she felt hadn’t made its way into her voice. Naga let out a low growl at her side. 

The man’s smirk twisted into a slimy sneer. “At ease, _Lieutenant General_ ,” he replied, making the title sound almost like an insult, then frowned at her polarbear dog. “You should teach that bitch its place. Then again, the inability to do so seems to run in your family,” he practically spat. 

She lowered her hand out of its salute, clenching both fists at her sides to keep from showing how they trembled with anger. “Forgive me, sir, but I don’t have time for the pleasure of bandying words with you,” she said in a growl of her own. 

Tarrlok’s sneer returned. “Oh, don’t let me keep you,” he said, pushing past her and Naga, but paused a few steps down the corridor and turned his head slightly back, tossing his three ponytails about. “And Lieutenant General, I’d hear out what your father has to say, for your own good and that of the South.” She watched with a hard glare as the man receded, until he disappeared around a corner. A pit of worry grew in her stomach as she turned and made her way through the doors. 

Tonraq, chieftain of the South, marshal of its military and her father, waited in the war room, leaning forward with his hands upon the large table in the center. He frowned down at the expansive map on its surface. It displayed the entirety of the South Pole, the locations of their forces and the enemy's marked by miniature pennants bearing the respective Water Tribes' emblems. He looked up when she entered, and his expression changed to one of relief. He pushed off the table and walked around it towards her. She started another salute, but the man’s powerful arms pulled her into an iron-tight hug before she could finish.

“Korra, I’m glad you’re here! I worried after the last reports I received,” he said, his baritone voice vibrating the wide chest her face was pressed against. He stepped back, his large hands still on her shoulders as he looked her over. “Another miracle victory, nothing less than I’d expect from my girl,” and his face split into a proud grin. However, as he searched her face another look entered his eyes. Was that...fear she saw, or worry? She realized the whole time she had been staring back at him impassively, so she tried her best at making a comforting smile. It didn’t seem to work, because her father’s concerned expression deepened. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked.

“Yes sir. Like you said, we won and that’s what counts,” she answered. Tonraq removed his hands from her shoulders, turning his back to her to look over the table once more and crossing his arms in front of him. She stepped up to his side, following his gaze. The strategy map wasn’t a pretty sight. The marker that represented her force was followed by a swathe conspicuously absent of Northern pennants, but the other Southern Army troops weren’t faring as well. The ‘North’s Great Serpent’, as the formation employed by their enemy had come to be called, stretched all around them, blockading their ports, choking their supply routes and tightening its coils closer and closer to Harbor City. 

“I wasn’t asking about the war. Despite your efforts, it’s plain to see how that’s going,” her father said solemnly. “I’m asking about you. You’ve changed since this all started. I’ve heard about your ‘show no mercy’ policy, some of the methods you use.” He paused, and he sounded pained. “We started this fight for matters of principle and independence, not to set up a butcher’s shop.”

She felt anger start at the base of her spine, running up to her head and clouding her thought. “Last I checked we were fighting a war, not playing make-believe,” she said harshly, and Naga lay down on the floor near her feet, whimpering at her change of tone. “When was the last time you were on the field, down in the thick of the gunfire and blood? You think they would be so quick to show us mercy?” She jabbed her finger at the enemy markers on the table. 

Deep inside, beneath the rage, her heart ached. Of course she knew she had changed. It was hard to miss when it took a bottle of drink every night to chase away the dying eyes of that suffering boy, when pulling her trigger and putting a bullet into a fellow Water Tribesman had gotten easier each time until taking a life came uneventfully as taking a breath. It was a vicious cycle, because the outlet for her suffering was an easy target to find when she was surrounded by the enemy. 

Tonraq looked angry himself. “Don’t lecture me on the horrors of war, girl, I’ve had my fair share,” his tone ice. “I expect the North to show us the same mercy we show them, and in your case that’s none. When this all comes to an end, I want as many of my people alive and unharmed as can be.”

“You make it sound like we’ve already lost,” she said. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was Tonraq’s inspiring speeches against the tyranny of the North, his insistence that the South had to take a stand or lose its pride forever that had lit a flame in her and their people to take up arms originally. Now the imposing, heroic figure she remembered from her teens looked reduced to a tired old man, his hair shot with gray at the temples and once-powerful shoulders hunched beneath the burden he carried. He sighed and deflated even further.

“Look before you. Does this seem like a winning war? Everyday more of our people die for a cause going no where. It’s my duty to make the best decision for the tribe. I thought I made the right one by declaring independence from the North, but each passing moment I think more about rectifying that choice,” he said.

“Has that worm Tarrlok made it all the way into your ear? What happened to you?” She asked.

“You will not speak like that of your superiors,” he barked. His face was taut and jaw clenched. “Negotiations with the North have progressed and a deal struck for a measure of independence if we surrender.”

“And you trust them? What’s to stop the North from crushing us the moment we lay down arms?” 

“I trust that my brother is just as tired of the fighting as I am,” he replied. “We certainly have our differences, but we both care for our people. We’ll be meeting at the end of the month to discuss the South’s surrender.”

She was beside herself with disbelief at what she was hearing. She clutched at straws, she knew, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. “I have intelligence informing where most of the North’s brass are gathering, let me march my troops on them and finish this the way we set out to,” she begged.

Tonraq’s fury was still something to behold, she was reminded, as he slammed a fist down on the table. The wood splintered and the pennants decorating the map collapsed. “Damn it! Didn’t you hear a thing I said? The whole point of this is to end the war with the least violence possible. If it means we obtain just a fraction of our freedom without any more lives sacrificed, I’ll do what the North asks. Are you so bloodthirsty that you’d throw that away? What happened to my daughter?!” He roared. 

Silence settled over the room after his outburst and they both stood still. His words stung awfully, piercing the ice in her chest. She blinked back the tears they raised, then drew herself completely upright. Tonraq turned around, a sad look now on his face.

“Korra, I’m sorry‒” he started, but she cut him off.

“War happened. If you cowards won’t end what we started, I will.” She was numb again, except for the low boil of wrath that built its way up her chest. She rounded, oblivious to the whines of Naga as the polarbear dog stood up to follow her. She slammed her way through the doors and stormed down the corridor, ignoring the calls of her father as they faded.

“Korra! Korra!”

●●●

“Korra!”

She was distantly aware of violent coughing and the feeling of her body’s wracking as she spewed water out of her chest, like it was happening to someone else. When she had finished, she settled and slipped back under a blanket of nothingness.

“Korra!”

She didn’t know how much time passed, but eventually consciousness came back to her in slow waves, as did pain. Given the amount she felt, she decided her body was agony itself, always had been and always would be. 

“Korra!” The deep voice called again. She let out a groan, wondering if she had died and her father had come to greet her. Death hurts a lot, she realized from somewhere far in the back of her mind.

“Pa?” She asked, her own voice hardly reaching her ears in its hoarse whisper. 

“No, I’m not your pa,” the voice replied. In her confusion she discovered she could operate her eyelids. They cracked open slowly, and she saw the silhouette of a head above her. It was haloed in a corona of sunlight, shielding her from the bright orb as it hung high in the sky, but her eyes still winced at the sudden exposure.

“There you are,” the voice continued. “Take your time now, no sense in rushing. Looks like you took quite the tumble again. A miracle you survived really, if the fall didn’t do you in there’s all this wreckage about, fit to crush a person. You know, this is the second time I’ve found you at death’s door in this desert, young woman. You really ought to take more care of yourself, spirits know we’ve only got so much time as it is on this earth. Which reminds me of an old Air Nomad saying, it goes something like...” 

The bombardment of words left Korra reeling as her hazy mind struggled to keep up with them. Luckily, another voice spoke up nearby, this one younger and higher, belonging to a girl.

“Father, you’re rambling again,” she said. “Let the poor woman catch her bearings.”

“Hmm. I suppose I am,” said the silhouette above her. “Korra, can you see me?” A hand waved over her face. Slowly, her eyes adjusted and the features of the man became visible. She saw the tattoo first, an arrow that matched the sky behind it in color and ran over the pate of his head and ended just above his thick furrowed brows. He looked at her with pale blue eyes, his mouth turned into a concerned frown behind his beard. 

“Tenzin?” She asked, her voice still quiet. “What are you doing here?”

“I have half a mind to ask you the same question,” he replied. “I thought I’d seen the last of you after you high-tailed it with one of my horses a few months back. Then we hear this train going over the edge of the Divide and a near-dead, fear-crazed deputy stumbles into our camp raving about all sorts of bandits and outlaws and Asamis, whatever those are. Wouldn’t calm down, insisted we take him to search through the wreckage though I told him it wasn’t likely we’d find any living. I stand corrected, seems the boy has a good gut.”

Korra only heard parts of what Tenzin said, because the events of the night before came rushing back. Mako. Hiroshi. The Red Lotus. Asami. It was enough to set her reeling once again, but she leaned up onto her left arm when she remembered the last. 

“Asami. Did you find her too?” She managed, fighting back her body’s protests as she looked around them. She lay on the rocky bank of the river they had plunged into. It was a wide body of water, deep in the center and dark blue. Across it was the other side of the canyon, a wall of orange and brown earth that towered up higher than she could comfortably crane her neck to look at. About her lay the ruined cars of the train, some partly submerged in the river and others crushed like tin against the bottom of the Great Divide. Bits of metal and the train’s prior occupants littered the area, the latter a grisly sight. 

“This who you mean?” Korra heard the girl’s voice again from behind her. She turned around in worry, the fate of the other passengers starting a panic in her chest. She decided she had seen enough dead Satos for a lifetime. She didn’t want to be responsible for the family’s complete demise. Relief flooded her when she found Asami laying in the shade of a large boulder, largely unscathed, still unconscious by the steady rise and fall of her chest and almost peaceful in appearance. 

At her side crouched Jinora, Tenzin’s oldest. She bore the same blue tattoos as her father, ordaining her as a master of Air Nomad philosophy, likely the youngest among the Nomads. She chose to grow out her hair and pull it back in a conservative bun. She was dressed in practical traveling clothes similar to her father's, a loose cotton blouse and brown breeches, her boots formed out of a thick canvas-like material probably woven from plant fiber. Air Nomad practice forbade the use of animals for their materials or meat. Korra heard they still wore traditional robes at the Air Temples, but exemptions were made for missionaries like Tenzin’s lot. 

Jinora grinned Korra’s way. “Good to see you Avatar. The spirits told me we’d be meeting again.” Korra recalled the girl’s unique tendency to spout what she claimed came from the inhabitants of the Spirit World. Whether it was true or the girl was just cracked in the head, she couldn’t say. She preferred to let others believe what they will, as long as they spared her the same courtesy. Such wasn’t the case in Tenzin’s company, she had quickly discovered during her previous stay with the Air Nomads. She was grateful to them for saving her life, the first time after she had been left to die by the Red Lotus gang and now again, but their preaching always wore on her nerves. 

Korra returned Jinora’s smile with a nod, then turned to Tenzin who had leaned back from her. “Help me up will you,” she requested, holding out her left arm. Tenzin placed a straw hat over his head, its edge turned up in the front, then stood and complied. Korra winced with pain as she got to her feet, leaning heavily on the tall man. She placed her left hand gingerly against the right side of her ribs, feeling them through her soaked dress. She gasped as the contact sent lances of agony through her, and she removed her hand quickly. If she was lucky, only a few ribs had been cracked by the fall into the river. 

Then there was the matter of her shoulder. Korra carefully attempted to move her right arm. She instantly regretted it, nearly doubling over as her vision went white and a pained shout ripped from her. Tenzin startled at the sudden reaction, nearly dropping her back onto the riverbank. 

“Korra! Are you alright?” He asked in concern. 

She gritted her teeth, calming her breath. “I took one in the shoulder. Looks like it didn’t pass through.” Her stomach flipped at what was to come. “I’m gonna need you to get it out.”

Tenzin nodded understanding, somewhat sympathetically. “We’ll need to get you back to the wagons, they’re a little ways up the bank. Can you make the walk?” He asked.

“Yeah. Just need you to help me,” she said. “Let’s wait for her to wake up.” Korra pointed her chin towards where Asami lay. 

They didn't need to wait long, because shortly the unconscious woman stirred. Her eyes opened and she sat halfway up, looking around with a very lost expression. She found Jinora still crouching next to her, then Tenzin and lastly Korra, still leaning against him.

Almost before she could register it, Asami was on her feet with an ease Korra envied right around now. Her green eyes were ablaze and she charged, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. 

“You damned bitch! You killed him! You killed my father!” She screamed. Even if she had the strength to dodge the fist headed her way, Korra wouldn't have. The woman’s punch connected against her cheekbone and stars exploded in front of her eyes. The force tore her from Tenzin’s side and she staggered backwards. There, she thought, now they were even blow-for-blow. At least she managed to keep her footing.

Then her heel hit a poorly located rock, and she toppled over. Korra’s body went rigid when she contacted the hard ground, her breath hitched mid-intake. The eruption of pain was simply too much. She lay paralyzed for a moment that stretched into eternity, then it all broke.

“SPIRITS BE FUCKED!” She let loose an earsplitting howl, and it echoed across the Divide’s massive walls for a long time before it finally faded. Korra was vaguely aware of Asami struggling against Tenzin’s grip as the man held her back from leaping on the downed outlaw, but both froze at her exclamation.

“Korra! Watch how you speak of the spirits!” Tenzin admonished sternly.

“Fuck you Tenzin, and fuck your spirits!” were the most civilized words she could string together. She lay writhing in torture beneath the glaring sun, wondering when it would end and letting loose a chain of swears that would make the meanest drill sergeant blush. 

At last, her agony lowered to a threshold barely manageable. She stilled, panting quickly. Sweat stained her brow and her body quivered, but rational thought started to reappear. “Sorry Tenzin,” she croaked. “Didn’t mean what I said.”

He still wore a disapproving frown. Asami had been released, standing at his side with her arms crossed and a fiery glare directed Korra’s way. Apparently her display of pain had been enough to appease the Sato’s wrath, for now.

“How about what this young woman said? Is it true? Did you kill her father?” Tenzin asked. 

Korra exhaled, closing her eyes and spoke from where she lay, no energy left to sit up. “I may as well have.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Asami spat more than she asked, her tone as venomous as her stare. Korra opened her eyes, looking at her. The woman’s pale jaw was tight and she nearly shook with rage.

This time, Korra did make the effort to lean up, lifting herself slowly a few inches off the bank onto her left arm. She returned Asami’s stare, putting all her honesty and sincerity behind it. “Listen. I didn’t shoot your father, but I know who did. They’re a gang calling themselves the Red Lotus. I used to ride with them a while back, but circumstances led us our separate ways. I could’ve...I should’ve stopped them. I have no excuse for myself, but for what it’s worth coming from someone like me, your father was a good man Miss Sato, the rare sort. His trust was wasted on me, and for that I’ll always regret not taking the bullet in his stead. Hiroshi’s last words were for your safety. I know by then it was too late, but that’s why I stopped the Red Lotus’s leader from killing you too.”

Her words seemed to have little impact, because Asami still looked mad as ever. “Don’t you dare to ever speak his name again. This Red Lotus, why were they on the train? Did they come to rescue you?”

Korra shook her head. “No, they didn’t even know I was still kicking. Our reunion was pure coincidence. As for why they were on the train, my only guess is they were after whatever was on board, and you’d know that better than me. Also, their leader Zaheer, he’s not one for progress or authority, something we had in common once. He likely saw last night as a two-horned opportunity.”

“And you expect me to believe that horseshit?! That my father, Hiroshi Sato, died because of some random whim a passing bandit had?” Asami’s fury knew no ends, but Korra sympathized. She had been there once herself. 

“You’re free to believe whatever’s easiest for you to stomach. All I can do is tell you the truth, if not for your sake then for Mr. Sato’s. I’m the only living person who saw what happened and isn’t fiending for your blood. The Red Lotus aren’t just random bandits, they’re dangerous and don’t leave a job unfinished.” 

Zaheer’s words still echoed in her ears. “ _You didn’t forget, did you?_ ”

“You haven’t heard of the Red Lotus before because they take no prisoners, leave no survivors and once you join them, it’s for life. You quit them, and the undertaker has more work to be done. If they find out we survived, they’ll hound us all the way to hell. I’m in no position to be dealt that hand right now.”

“Speak for yourself,” Asami answered. “Either they find me, or I find them first.” Her face was steel, reminding Korra of their conversation in the bathing car. Still, the girl had no idea what she had gotten into.

“Then help me up Tenzin, let’s get to your camp and pull this bullet out of me,” Korra addressed the man. He looked down at her, then to Asami.

“I’ll leave that decision up to Miss Sato, I think,” he stated, and Korra felt betrayed. She guessed her outburst, as uncontrollable as it had been, hadn’t earned her any favor with the Air Nomad master. 

Her judge looked her over pitilessly, the anger in her eyes undampened. “Let the outlaw walk on her own,” she declared. Tenzin nodded, then turned to lead Asami towards wherever their camp lay. The two left, and Jinora stood from her place in the boulder’s shade, giving Korra a sympathetic shrug. 

“Sorry Avatar, the spirits say I shouldn’t help you either,” she offered apologetically, then followed the others, leaving Korra alone on the riverbank. She rolled her eyes at the girl’s words, but sighed defeatedly and lay back down to begin gathering the will to follow them. 

It had only been four days since she stumbled into Wuchu, and more had happened within that span of time than the last few months combined. Despite all the people she encountered, all the words she had spoken, somehow she felt lonelier than she ever had, lying at the bottom of the Great Divide, her only company the rushing river, the ruined train and its deceased passengers. She couldn’t count a friend left in the world, but enemies? Those were in no short supply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a chapter more quickly this time around! It's certainly not as eventful as the last, more focused on character building and backstory, but it was fun to write. I hope you folks liked it! 
> 
> Man oh man, our anti-heroine certainly hasn't caught a break. When I set out to write this I knew I wanted tsundere!Asami, but even I didn't realize how tsundere her character could be. I'm really looking forward to developing her and Korra's relationship further. If you expected hot n' steamy from the get go, I'm afraid I have to disappoint.
> 
> Thank you for your epic comments and feedback guys, every morning after posting a chapter is like Christmas-come-early! As always, please let me know your thoughts, questions, criticisms, and life stories here in the comments or over at [tumblr](http://eckswhaixi.tumblr.com/)! Much love -xyz


	9. No Rest for the Wicked

Korra fell against a large boulder, swearing at the pain it sent jarring through her. Her going had been slow and arduous in the tattered dress and without the aid of another to lean on, so she allowed herself a moment of uncomfortable respite against the hard surface. Each step she had taken started sparks of agony in her ribs and shoulder and other bruised parts of her body. She wondered for the countless time if she was even headed in the right direction. The riverbank limited her to traveling in a straight line, and still she had yet to find Tenzin's camp. 

The sun had long ago begun its descent in the western sky, casting the bottom of the canyon in the shade of its own great walls. The roar of the river was her only company, not so much as even a small critter the whole way to break the monotony of brown brush and red rocks. In her solitude, she had run out of colorful insults to hurl at those who left her to stumble on her own.

"Sure, leave the injured woman behind, nevermind the fact she saved your life and still has the bullet in her to prove it," she rambled bitterly to the river. "And some Air Nomad masters those two are, thought they were all about mercy and second chances and 'love thy neighbor' horseshit. 'The spirits say I shouldn't help you'," Korra said in a mocking imitation of Jinora. "Damned spirits, what good have they ever done anyone?"

The river apparently had no answers, because it's steady rushing continued unabated. She cursed it as well, then gathered herself to push off the boulder and carry on her way. She was interrupted when a melodic voice broke over the sound of the water, faintly carried to her like a crisp breeze.

"Korra! Are you out here? Korraaaa!

"I'm over here!" She called back, suddenly retracting her denouncement of the spirits. After a time passed and nothing happened, she readied another shout, but didn’t need to.

A beautiful young woman Korra knew from her previous stay with Tenzin's troupe rounded the other side of the boulder, coming face to face with her. She had skin a shade lighter than Korra’s and short black hair as well, but her eyes were vibrant green in place of blue, and she wore a dark shawl over a white cotton dress immaculately clean for their surroundings. 

"Korra! There you are," the woman said with a radiant smile that would've had her weak at the knees if she wasn't already. The smile turned to concern however, as the woman looked her over. "Spirits, here, let me help," she said and stepped to Korra's side.

"Thanks Opal, you're a sight for sore eyes," Korra said. "Watch my ribs and shoulder," she added as Opal put an arm around her and supported her with a strength that belied the woman's lithe frame. 

"I'm sorry, I would've come sooner but I didn't even know you were out here until that deputy Mako inquired about you," Opal said as they started in a slow walk, Korra leaning into her heavily. She smelled of cleanliness and flowers, an uncommon scent this deep in the wilds. "I had a few choice words for Tenzin when I heard, I can't believe he and Jinora left you behind." 

Korra couldn't stop a slight smile at Opal's indignation, but her heart fell when she realized the young woman likely hadn't heard the others' reasoning. "Well, that Sato girl does have a right to be angry at me," she started. Now that help had come her way, her ire had somewhat dampened. She winced, feeling where her face still ached from Asami’s punch, but less from hurt than the pang of guilt in her chest. “Her pa’s at rest somewhere in this river, and I had a hand to play in it.”

“I heard what happened, Miss Sato explained it all to the deputy. She didn’t have many kind words for you,” Opal replied. 

Korra winced again, this time due to equal parts pain caused by their slow travel and what Opal said. Asami’s face was still fresh in her mind, contorted with rage and sorrow when she looked on Korra. Can’t imagine how the girl’s feeling, she started to think, everything torn from her in one night. 

Then it occurred to her that she could. All that hopeless fury, the suffocating need to mourn and cry and scream but an inability to do so when those that wronged you still walked the earth, the bellows of fire in the heart and a single word seared across your mind like a cattle-brand still aflame. 

Revenge. 

Korra knew it all too well, she had once been consumed by that single-minded desire to return the hurt wrought upon you a hundredfold. She also knew where that path led, what waited at the end. She would have to talk to Asami, if the woman would listen. 

“You okay there? You fell awfully quiet,” Opal spoke from her side, breaking Korra from her thoughts.

“Yeah, just trying not to focus on the hurting,” she half-lied. “So you still came for me, even after you knew?”

“Of course,” Opal said, like it was the only thing to do. “Air Nomads don’t leave anyone to suffer, no matter their sins.”

Korra gave a small chuckle at that. She had spent a long time in the military practicing the exact opposite. “You’re too good for this earth, Opal,” was all she replied. 

They had made decent progress along the bank now, and as they rounded a bend in the canyon’s walls she spotted a plume of campfire smoke not far ahead. They pushed past more brush and boulders, then were suddenly upon a wide clearing near the river’s shore. In the center sat five large wagons, each covered in an arch of canvas. They were pulled into a half-circle, its open side facing the water. Around them stood a multitude of pitched conical tents. In the midst of all this was a large bonfire, and about it Air Nomads occupied themselves with various camp business. Some looked to be preparing food, others hung up clothes to dry that were brought back from their cleaning by the river’s edge. They engaged in a bubble of chatter with each other, some singing hymns to themselves while they worked. Korra counted about a score in all, mostly women and children. 

As she and Opal neared, the Nomads saw them and fell silent, stopping what they were doing. The silence was broken when Tenzin’s eldest boy, bursting with energy, leapt upon a stone near the fire, one hand on his hip and the other pointed in their direction.

“Dad! Here come Opal and the bloody bandit!” He shouted with a voice too big for his small body. He had a self-righteous look upon his face, like he was doing the camp great service by announcing their arrival. 

“Meelo! Watch your tongue!” Korra heard Tenzin’s deep voice from behind a line of tethered, stout wagon horses, and presently he emerged from where it looked like he had been tending to them. 

Meelo’s pride turned to confusion at his father’s admonishment. “But they are here, and Korra’s really bloody."

“Oh, by the spirits she is,” Tenzin said, dropping the horse brush and hoof pick he held in his hands and striding towards them quickly on long legs.

Korra looked down at herself, finding her right side slick with fresh blood from her wound. It must have opened some point during the walking, not that it had much chance to ever close originally. Her first thought was regret at the stains she had gotten on Opal’s dress sleeve. Then, maybe because she saw how much blood she was actually losing, dizziness overwhelmed her and her limbs turned to lead. Her full, dead weight was too much for Opal to support, and she slipped to the ground, this time barely conscious of the pain it caused her injuries. She lay looking up, a buzzing filling her ears and a haze blocking her thoughts, not really seeing Opal’s fear stricken face leaning over her. She had the faint sensation of being lifted into the air upon strong arms, the motion churning her stomach. Her head lolled back on her shoulders, her view of the world flipped over.

Korra and her bearer moved rapidly towards the wagons. They passed the fire, and like she was looking on from a great distance at an upside down picture, she found Asami sitting on a log near it. She didn’t know, but a soft smile graced her lips. Just seeing the breathtaking woman alive, it set some small part of her cold soul at ease. It was simply right, and one right in a world of wrongs was a dear thing. 

She noticed then Mako sitting near enough to Asami that their legs were touching, his once pristine dress coat about her shoulders. Now it was ragged and torn, and the sight of it on Asami affronted Korra. The deputy had seen better days, his clothing and face streaked with filth, hair wild and his ruined white shirt stained red-brown by the injuries he received. Whatever bad blood lay between them must have been forgotten in the light of recent events, and the two watched her passing with matching frowns. She would later chalk it all up to blood-loss inflicted delirium, spirits knew she had no grounds to feel such a thing after what happened, but the sight of them together speared her heart with jealousy’s green fire. 

Korra didn’t have long to stew in her emotions, because consciousness slipped further away from her like the life out of her shoulder. She felt a soft surface beneath as she was laid upon it, and caught a brief glimpse of Tenzin over her. Then the rest was lost to darkness, and her thinking ceased.

●●●

Unawareness wasn’t with Korra for long, because an explosion of agony in her shoulder wrenched her from the black. Her eyes flew open, though unseeing past the blinding pain, her teeth clenched and she gripped the blanket under her into folds. Her body jerked involuntarily, and the motion might as well have impaled her through and through on whatever invasive instrument dug into her arm, because a bloodcurdling scream tore from her. Her hips bucked and her legs kicked out, twisting like the coils of two adders in their final moments.

She felt the cold sting of metal withdraw from her wound and two strong, calloused hands pushed her down until she stilled. The material of her dress had been cut away around the site of operation. She heard Tenzin’s somber voice before his face came into view, breaking past the white clouding her vision.

“I had hoped to get that lead out before you came back, would’ve been easier that way,” he told her. Korra bit back the curses before they came, she wouldn’t make the mistake of insulting her caretaker twice. It still took all her willpower. Instead, she choked out a groan. Tenzin gave her a sympathetic look, then patted her cheek. “I’m sorry girl, I shouldn’t have left you out there. The spirits don’t look kindly on the vindictive sort, and Opal was sure to remind me the right path to walk. Sometimes I think she deserves these tattoos more than I.” She managed to wave his apologies away, they were the least of her concerns. 

“Make it up to me by getting this thing out,” she said through gritted teeth. Tenzin nodded, then reached to his side out of her sight, and pulled out a glass bottle of amber liquid and a short stick. She raised her eyebrows. “Thought the Nomads forbade alcohol."

A faint blush creeped on to the old man’s cheeks. “It has its medicinal uses,” he sputtered. “Good for cleaning wounds and the like. In your case, you might want to take a swig, it could dull some of what’s coming.” She didn’t need to be told twice, her left hand snatched the bottle and put it to her lips quicker than lightning. She gulped like a woman dying of thirst, not heeding the drink’s burn down the back of her throat. When she finished, she handed the depleted bottle back, catching the brief, mournful look in Tenzin’s eyes as he regarded it. He placed the bottle down then handed her the stick, and she took it, placing it in her mouth and biting down with a practiced motion. Hadn’t been the first time, likely wouldn’t be the last, and there was no sense in losing a tongue to one’s own teeth. 

“Pema!” Tenzin called over his shoulder, “Put my knife on the fire, then find someone else and come hold her down.” Shortly, Tenzin’s wife appeared at his side. She was a homely woman, dressed similarly to Opal and the other women of the Nomad troupe. Korra nearly jumped with surprise when Mako stepped up behind her. He had his sleeves rolled up and a serious expression. The older woman moved to hold her down by the shoulders, and the deputy locked her ankles to the ground. Both of their grips were like steel.

She exhaled, counting out to four, then drew the breath back in, doing the same and closing her eyes the whole while. She opened them, looking at Tenzin and giving a short nod. There was nothing else for it.

She tried not to yell, she really did, but when Tenzin’s tools scraped against muscle and tendon and bone, it was a lost cause and her muffled cries had many in the camp fidgeting with agitation. At some point during the whole affair she went mercifully slack, shock-induced unconsciousness sparing her the worst of it. 

When Korra came to again, Pema held her upright while Tenzin wrapped strips of cloth over her shoulder and under her arm. The biting stick had dropped into her lap, and at her side was a little pan. In it sat a small, bloody ball of metal and she wondered at how such a tiny thing could be the cause of so much pain. Given by the burned sting of her skin and smell of charred flesh, she guessed the long knife next to the pan had been used to sear closed the hole left behind. Now it sat, dark and cold in the dirt. She grimaced as the man tied a makeshift sling around her neck and gently lifted her right arm into it.

“Got any more of that drink Tenzin?” She asked hoarsely, her vocal cords strained enough for one day.

“I’m afraid you polished off our only bottle,” he said somewhat remorsefully, and Korra sympathized. “But the bloody work is done, you’ll just need rest now. Those broken ribs will have to heal on their own. I’ll fetch Opal and see about getting you into a change of clothes, we have spares around somewhere.”

“Give me some time to rest first,” she replied. Her body was beyond exhausted, and moving was out of the question. “And no dresses, get me some real clothes,” she continued. Zaheer had been right about one thing, at least. They really didn’t suit her. 

Tenzin nodded and stood to leave, and Pema laid her gently back down. “Now rest easy dear, don’t go exciting that wound. You need anything, just let one of us know.” She stood as well, and followed after her husband. That left only Mako, who crouched at the end of her feet.

“Haven’t seen me in enough pain yet?” She asked, irritated at the deputy’s continued presence. At first he didn’t reply, staring at her with serious amber eyes, then looked at the metal ball in the pan. 

“I wanted to thank you. This was all no easy thing,” he finally said, and Korra wondered if the world was coming to an end. Those were the last words she expected to hear. 

“I’m sorry, did I hear you right?” She asked disbelievingly. “You must’ve missed the part where my old gang shot Hiroshi dead and sent the Sato train into the Divide.”

In reply Mako shook his head. “I’m not saying any of what happened is all right, or turned out for the better, but it could’ve turned out a whole lot worse. Miss Sato’s upset with you, and might always be. Doesn’t change the fact she’s alive because you took a bullet in her place and got her off that train. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for letting Mr. Sato die, and I couldn’t be there for her.”

She was quiet for a time, searching the man’s face, then spoke. “Well, I think you did well enough surviving the Red Lotus. I can only think of two others who have accomplished that. You can be there for her now.” That was the last thing she wanted to say, but the woman deserved shelter from the storm that had broken unfairly over her head. Korra knew who she’d rather have Asami turn to for comfort, but it was a selfish and unreasonable thought. 

Mako’s flush painted his face once again, and he rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. “Thank you again Miss Korra, I’ll do what I can.” Then his seriousness returned. “I take it by your actions you’ve severed ties with this Red Lotus?”

She nodded. “They’ll be after my head now just as determinedly as yours and the Sato woman’s.”

“Then you're the enemy of my enemy,” he said, and extended his right hand towards her. She stared at it until embarrassed realization struck the deputy, and he quickly switched it with his left. She took his hand into her own with the one that could still operate, and they clasped in a firm shake. She looked at Mako in a new light from the blushing, absent-minded fool she had taken him for. She recalled P’li’s words on the train, about how Ming-Hua had been tasked with taking care of him. Escaping that woman was no trifling feat. 

“We’ll see about getting back to Wuchu, Sheriff Beifong is gonna need to hear what happened. She might have a better idea of what comes next,” the deputy continued. “I’ll leave you be now, rest up for the journey ahead.” He rose to his feet and started to walk away. 

“Find Opal and send her here,” she called after Mako. He looked back over his shoulder, reaching up to tip his hat, but finding it absent he settled for a curt nod.

Opal appeared a few moments later, some clothes already held in her arms. She looked over Korra with relief.

“I’m glad that ordeal’s done with,” she said. “I worried we lost you when you collapsed like that, then again at those frightful shouts of yours.” 

“I’m still here thanks to you finding me,” Korra replied. “Let’s get me out of this damned dress.”

Opal helped her off the padded blanket she lay on, supporting her once more and leading her around the wagons and to one of the tents. They passed through the canvas of its entrance. It was tall enough to stand inside and light poured through flaps at its top. The interior was about seven paces across, empty except for a single pad of bedding and long poles around its perimeter that held it up from the inside and leaned against each other over their heads. 

Opal aided Korra in removing the Water Tribe dress and undergarments, then together they eased on the clothes that had been brought with them. They were of simple and rustic craftsmanship, the coarse cloth rough on her skin compared to the dress’s soft fur. Even so, she felt far more comfortable. Her hip felt empty without the familiar weight of her holster and Peacemaker; the gun and the rest of her belongings rested somewhere on the river’s bottom. She yearned at its absence, it had served her well and was the last token she possessed of better days. She didn’t know if a suitable replacement could ever be found for her longtime friend.

The ruffle of the tent’s entrance being pushed open sounded behind her. Opal stopped buttoning her new shirt closed, looking over Korra’s shoulder, and a frown formed on her pretty face. 

“Can I help you Miss Sato?” She asked their unannounced guest.

“I’d like a word with the outlaw,” came Asami’s cool voice. Opal’s frown deepened.

“ _Korra_ needs her rest, and I was about to put her up for the night. I’m sure it can wait,” she answered. 

“No, it can’t.” 

Maybe it was the iron command in the woman’s tone, or something in her face that Korra couldn’t see that swayed Opal, because she looked at Korra a bit apologetically. “Seems like she has something urgent for between the two of you. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, then spoke to Asami, “How about you finish dressing her?” She walked past Korra and out of the tent, leaving the two of them alone. 

“I’m starting to think you have a penchant for seeing me in a state of undress,” Korra began, and turned around. “If you’d be so kind as to‒

"Oh.” 

The short double-barrels of Mako’s coachgun pointed at her chest, cutting her off. Asami stood on the other end of it, clicking the twin hammers back and curling her fingers over the gun’s two triggers. 

“I said I’d kill you if any harm came to my father,” she said quietly. Korra expected to find that same rage in her green eyes, but instead saw only sadness. By the bags beneath them, she had shed a fair amount of tears. 

“You said you’d kill me if I harmed your father,” Korra corrected, “but I know, what difference does it make?” She let out a resigned breath. “If you were going to shoot me all along, I would’ve preferred you did it before I went through the trouble of having that bullet removed.” Asami made no reply, just watched her steadily, so she continued.

“I’ll keep apologizing until the end of my days, but if keeping your promise is the only thing that’ll bring you some measure of peace, I won’t fight you. If dying is all I can do that will actually bring some good about, so be it. My life is yours.”

And Korra closed her eyes, waiting for it to come. She had imagined her demise would be something a bit grander than going easily in an Air Nomad tent, but now that she accepted it, she felt light as the wind. Her body, her heart, her very soul were tired of it all, the running, the death, the hurt. What else had she ever known? Reprieve could be hers at last.

However, the moments during which nothing happened stretched longer, and though she wouldn’t admit it to herself, some of the nerve started to slip away. Just when she had resolved there was nothing more to live for, the smallest things came back to her. 

The satisfying kick of a six-shooter in her palm and the accompanying smell of black powder. The powerful feel of a horse between her legs. A woman’s soft touch. The pleasant buzz of drink. The arctic breeze on her face. The brilliant colors of the rising and setting sun. Life’s littlest pleasures flooded through her mind with no rhyme or reason, chasing back the specter of her deathwish. 

Before it could diminish completely, Korra opened her eyes again. Asami still looked her right in the face, but her brows were furrowed and she was frowning. The gun shook in the Sato’s hands. Irritation and anger seized Korra. She stepped forward, grabbing the coachgun’s barrels in her left hand and wrenching them so close the metal bit into the breast over her heart. 

“Damn the spirits and pull those triggers!” She snarled. “Why the hell do you go around pointing guns at people, threatening to kill them, if you aren’t going to get it over with?!”

For an instant, Korra thought the girl would pull them out of sheer panic at her sudden outburst. Instead, the trembling worsened and Asami’s breathing quickened. She looked scared, and it was all a familiar sight, one she recognized from her military days. At last, realization dawned. 

Korra leaned forward, so close that their faces almost met. She looked intently in the woman’s eyes, searching them. “Have you ever taken a life?”

Asami had stiffened at her nearness, and spoke no words. She didn’t need to, because the silence in the tent was telling enough. The anger and emotion drained out of Korra, and she shoved the gun away from her chest roughly. It fell to Asami’s side and remained there. She stepped back, finding the bedding behind her and lowering herself onto it. 

She looked at the hopeless woman across the tent, and marveled at the ludicrous tragedy of it all. She didn't know why, or from where, but a chuckle blurted from her chest before she could stop it. It grew into a chortle, then a full laugh that hurt her ribs, but even the pain couldn’t dampen her cynical mirth. Asami’s fear and confusion at the reaction turned to indignant anger when she realized she was the target of Korra’s guffaws. 

“What’s so funny?” She hissed. “It’s no laughing matter!”

Korra held her sides, simultaneously grinning and wincing, then wiped some of the tears that had started in her eyes. She hadn’t laughed so much in a very long time.

“You just had me really going, that’s all,” she wheezed, and held her hand in front of her in the shape of a mock gun. “‘If you look at my father with the slightest ill intent, I will kill you,’” she imitated Asami’s words from before, and the fits started all over again. “And I had you figured for the real, cold-blooded thing this whole time.”

Asami crossed the tent in a few quick strides, ending the laughter with a slap across Korra’s face, rebruising the side of her cheek that still ached from the last blow. “None of this,” Asami said brokenly, tears of her own falling down her face, “is a joke.”

A feeling of remorse started in her chest at the hurt in Asami’s tone, and Korra thought she might have went too far. 

“You’re right. Your life is mine, and you’re more of use to me alive than you are dead,” Asami continued, trying to regain her composure. “You’re going to help me find the sons-of-bitches that did this to the Sato family, and when we do, I promise I won’t hesitate then.” She turned on her heel and stormed toward the tent’s exit.

“Asami!” called Korra, forgetting formalities and pausing the woman in her footsteps. “I’ll help you, spirits know I’ve got nothing else left, but this road you’re starting down...it won’t bring your pa back.”

“My father is gone. His killers aren’t. Get some rest so you can make yourself handy. I spoke with Tenzin, we’re leaving the Divide tomorrow,” was all Asami said in reply. She pushed out of the tent, surprising Opal who stood outside. Korra watched her disappear into the falling dusk. Opal watched her go as well, then stepped inside. She held a wooden bowl and moved to sit next to Korra. 

“That was quite the lovers’ spat,” she said.

Korra snorted, and did her best to finish buttoning the bottom of her shirt. “You heard all that?”

“More than enough, this didn’t take me long to make,” Opal replied, handing her the bowl when she finished. It was filled with soupy brown liquid, and it smelled awful. 

“What’s this?” She asked, eying it with an untrusting look. 

“One of Pema’s concoctions, made with water, roots and desert cactus. It’ll help you sleep and keep you hydrated. You might have some dreams.”

Now that she thought about it, she was ferociously thirsty, so she drank from the bowl with abandon. It took all she had not to gag it back up, because it tasted worse than the smell. She finished, chucking the bowl across the tent. 

“Oh my, she really has you riled up doesn’t she?” Opal asked with raised eyebrows, looking at where it landed. 

“Don’t want to talk about it, not that fool girl or her fool mission.”

“She’ll need you in the days to come.”

“She has lover boy for that,” came the bitter reply. 

Opal shook her head. “That’s unrequited desire if I’ve ever seen it, even if they don’t know it yet. Mr. Law and Order won’t be able to help her, he’ll only hold her back.” 

“That’s not very Air Nomad of you to say. You sound quite sure of it.”

“I was Metal Clan first, and I’m my mother’s daughter. Call it Beifong intuition. If it’s an Air Nomad saying you want, remember even the most barren desert yields bountiful fruit, if you know where to look for it.” 

Korra snorted again. “Maybe, but the desert didn’t kill the fruit's pa.”

Opal frowned. “I don’t think that’s what the phrase means.”

Korra shrugged, and stood. “Whatever. I’ll help them put a rest to this Red Lotus business, as suicidal it may be, and wash my hands of the Satos for good if we make it.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Opal inquired. 

“I’ll find a spare bedroll and lay outside.”

“You certainly will not. We’re not risking that arm of yours to infection,” Opal stated, and pulled the blanket on her bedding back, patting it. “You sleep here tonight.”

Korra looked to the tent’s entrance, then back at Opal and the bed. What the hell, she was never one to turn down a night in a pretty girl’s company.

“No ideas, though,” said Opal as if reading her thoughts. “Another’s already got my heart.”

Korra laughed, sitting back down and pulling herself under the covers as best she could with one arm. “They’re a lucky one. Don’t worry, you’re only half my type.”

“Hmm,” replied Opal, following behind her. “Maybe if I grew out my hair and didn’t see the sun for a few years.”

“Shut it.” The foul concoction did its work quick, because her lids had already grown heavy with tiredness. “Opal?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for today.”

“Which part?”

An answer never came, Korra had already slipped into fitful slumber, full of green eyes and pale skin and raven-black hair.

●●●

She awoke sometime in the night, a feverish sweat broken over her body. Her throat was parched, the thick blanket suffocating her with heat. She pulled it off, careful not to disturb Opal sleeping by her side and stood to her feet shakily. She exited the tent and quietly stepped through the camp towards the river. Snores and sleepy murmurs came from all around her. The fire had died to glowing embers, only the moonlight guided her way.

She reached the river's edge, crouching down and cupping her left hand, taking some of the icy water and splashing it across her face. It was much refreshing, and she leaned her face to the surface to drink. Before she could, a voice spoke from behind. 

"Even the Avatar has trouble sleeping?"

She started, losing her balance and splashing into the water with a yelp. She pushed herself up with her left arm, rounding angrily to see who had gotten the jump on her. She found Jinora sitting on a rock not far away. She had missed the girl on her trek to the water, and she reminded herself to keep her wits about her.

"I'm not the Avatar, just a woman with bad dreams," she replied icily. "It's impolite to sneak up on people when they're refreshing themselves."

"Oh, I was here first."

"You could've said something by way of greeting."

"I did." 

"Yeah, but before I was half in the river would've been nice."

Jinora shrugged, not continuing their conversation further but keeping an unblinking gaze upon her. She found it a slight eery, so she turned her attention to the river once more, looking at the reflection of the crescent moon twisting on its surface.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" She asked without turning around.

"Avatar, you mean? Isn't that your title?"

"One I never asked for."

"I think people get a whole lot of things they don't ask for. A title is hardly the worst."

"Doesn't change that I'd rather be rid of it." 

"I suppose that's up to you. Do you think the name makes you, or you make the name?"

She shrugged. She left philosophy to minds with more time for pondering what might be rather than what was. "I think I'm Korra, and that's who I'd rather be known as."

"And who is Korra? What kind of woman is she?" 

Another shrug. "I suppose that remains to be seen."

"Does it? I think I have a good idea."

"Oh, do you now? Then enlighten me, who am I?"

"You're a killer."

The statement fell like the hammer of judgement, unflinchingly blatant. It hung heavily on the night air and settled over her shoulders like an inescapable shroud.

She forced a shallow laugh, hoping her unease didn't show. "Did the spirits tell you that too?"

"I don't need them to. I know by all the dead following you."

As irrational as it was, the hairs along the back of her neck stood on end. She turned around, almost fearful of what she'd see behind her. She was much relieved to find nothing, just the shadow of her form cast on the riverbank by the moon above. She looked to Jinora, prepared to say she only believed what she saw, and she saw no dead here, but stopped short. The blood drained from her face, her tongue turned to ash.

In the girl's place sat Hiroshi, a sad smile on his face and a bleeding hole over his heart. He regarded her, then spoke. "You're a murderer," he said with one of his chuckles, a juxtaposition against his words that made them all the more unsettling. "Look what happens to those who trust you, the people around you. What fate do you suppose awaits my daughter? What will you turn her into?”

She mouthed silently, fright and a lack of understanding at how he was there obliterating all the thoughts from her mind. She could apologize, say things would change, that this time it would be different, but none of it made it out. A part of her wondered if it was because she wouldn’t mean it, couldn't believe it.

Movement at the corner of her eye pulled her attention from the deceased Sato, and her own father stepped from behind the shadows of a large rock. Her heart tore all over again. The crown of his skull lay exposed, glistening with a sickening red sheen in the moonlight, the skin of his scalp brutally cut away. His sunken eyes filled with sorrow and fear. "You're a traitor. This was your fault. We could've had peace if you didn't crave for endless bloodshed."

She was torn apart with guilt, trying to apologize to him too. She only wanted what was best for their people, for the South, but even when she found the words nothing passed her muted lips.

Her mother followed behind him, her clothes ripped apart. A hole lay between her eyes, and when she looked up at Tonraq at her side with pained longing, a gaping emptiness was where the back of her head should've been. Then she turned with an icy blue stare. "You're a monster."

So it went, more appeared from the darkness, out of her past, pressing towards her. Men, women, a few no more than children. Some faces she remembered, others she had forgotten, but each and everyone echoed the same words until it was all she knew. 

"You're a killer." 

Some whispered it, some shouted and pointed at her accusingly with broken bodies, pushing nearer. She staggered back, feet sloshing in the chilling river, her gasping breath frantic, trying to escape the dead, but they came closer and closer still. Suddenly she felt a cold grip close tight as a shackle on her wrist, looking down to find a pallid white hand grasping her, reaching up on an arm that came from beneath the river’s black surface. An impossible number of the unliving limbs followed behind it, they wrapped around her torso, wormed about her legs, yanked her back by the hair. She tried to cry out, but another icy hand clamped over her mouth. She was forced backwards into the water like in some unholy baptism. It filled her eyes and nose and ears and mouth and lungs, killing her senses with impermeable darkness. Her struggles were useless, the crushing arms around her squeezing her life away, tighter than any chains she had been restrained in. 

Just when she gave up and her fight stopped, light broke through the surface over her head. The writhing about her stilled. Another pale hand reached down, but this one belonged to the world of the living. It bespoke of warmth, she could feel it even from where she drowned in the depths. The arms around her released their death-grip and fell away, retreating like shadows from the light and sliding back, beneath the muck of the river floor. She was left to float, rising up. As she neared the surface, the hand that awaited caressed along the side of her face, reached around her and pulled her the rest of the way until her face broke above‒

Korra shot up, panting heavily. She sat disoriented, letting her senses come to reason. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she found herself still in Opal’s tent. The moon shown through the hole in its top, casting a calming glow throughout its interior. Opal snored softly and endearingly at her side, then rolled over and murmured something about a saloon in her sleep. Korra exhaled, counting it out, and brought her breath in once more, repeating it until the blood in her veins stopped pounding. She lay down again, feeling the streaks of hot tears from her eyes freezing in the desert cold. The mournful howl of a coyote wolf sounded somewhere deep in the night, followed by an unearthly series of yips and yowls. 

Never again, she vowed, would an Air Nomad remedy touch her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. I think Korra's tortured past has been sufficiently established. Let's get those character arcs developing!
> 
> This was another difficult one to write, a bit more experimental and abstract. I got choked up on that last part. The character interactions in this chapter were fun to write! Some of the moments I already had planned, and was saving them for later, but they just kinda happened now. It's funny going into writing thinking you got it all planned out, but the story and characters really have minds of their own. Also, these pronouns are going to kill me! I hope you're able to keep track of who's who with all our female characters, let me know if it's not clear at any point.
> 
> I'm curious to hear your feedback on this one! What did you think of it all? Did it work for you? Too much too soon, too little too late? Let me know!! You know the drill, hit me up with your comments and questions below or over at [my tumblr](http://eckswhaixi.tumblr.com/)! Thank you for reading my story guys! I'm having a blast writing it, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts! :)
> 
> I'm currently neck-deep in four western novels, and I've realized how bad I am at reading and writing at the same time. I'm gonna take a week off to get them out of the way, I hope to emerge on the other side more inspired and with better direction/writing! I feel bad for not having a regular update schedule, but my sporadic shifts at work interrupt my flow a lot. There are some monster authors out there who churn out multiple chapters a day, which totally blows my mind. I can aspire! As always, thank you and much love -xyz
> 
> "But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. There is no peace," saith my God, "to the wicked."  
> Isaiah 57:20-21


	10. I Saw the Devil

Asami awoke to the first calls of early-morning birds and the constant noise of nighttime insects. Her first conscious thought was confusion at the sounds; she wondered where the muffled rumble of wheels on tracks went. She lay on a hard, steady surface, the familiar sway of the train car that rocked her to sleep every night, absent. She opened her eyes, hoping to find answers. It was dark and her breath was faintly visible in the frigid air. She looked up at a hole in a canvas ceiling, and through it the night sky was caught in transition to dawn's break. It was not a sight she was used to, and for a moment her confusion was suspended as she took it in, staring past the white puffs escaping her lips. The midnight navy, studded with an abundance of glittering stars, gave way to morning's encroaching cobalt right before her, sweeping the points of light back like they were a scattering of dust across the heavens. 

The tranquility of the moment shattered when remembrance crashed down upon her. She was far from her soft bunk, and lay on a padded mat so thin she may as well have slept on the ground directly. She was far from her small and cramped, though cozy, cabin in the foremost of her train’s living quarters, and in a tent borrowed from the Nomads. It sat near the edge of their camp, at the bottom of the Great Divide. There too, not far up the river, rested the train, though it was ruined and broken and swallowed up by the Divide's gaping maw, her father and friends with it. 

She fought the urge to curl up on herself, beneath those rough and foreign blankets, at the heartbreak of her recollection. The Satos were strong as the steel they forged, she repeated to herself. She had spent enough tears already. 

Though she had not slept well, poor dreams and alien accommodations had seen to that, returning to slumber was not within her ability. When the machinery of her mind fired into consciousness, its cogs and gears and pistons awoken into motion, it would not cease for a while yet. She knew better than to fight it, instead she let her mind stray and continued to behold the slow, quiet spectacle of day’s birth.

Father. He was a source of endless warmth amidst all the lifeless metal they worked with. A kind, charitable and defenseless man, murdered in an act of senseless violence. The void left by her mother's passing was torn twice as large by the tragedy, opening a vacuum of anger, sorrow, helplessness. Not new feelings, but now they poisoned her heart far more potently, her father had been there before, to cry with, to cling to, to hold hands as they lowered her mother into a cradle of earth. This time, no one was left to pull the venom out, it sat inside festering, spreading, killing. 

His murderers. A gang of outlaws, this Red Lotus, the cursed perpetrators and they walked free. At least, she was told they were the murderers, by a former member of their gang and wanted criminal, who might well be interested only in preserving herself. She recalled clearly the sight that met her when she broke into her father's study car. This 'Avatar' Korra, the man she called Zaheer, the giant woman, all three poised over her father's corpse like carrion birds, guns in their hands and at the ready, their instruments of killing in similarity to wicked talons, ready to pick apart and tear at the flesh of their prize. Anyone of them could have committed the deed. 

The outlaw. She was inclined to believe her, the outlaw’s words held true sincerity. She was not only an engineer, but a businesswoman as well; long ago she learned to read people and their speech. She saw genuine repentance in the outlaw's eyes, past all the ice they held, even after her head was lost to emotion and she struck the woman, then again when Asami held Mako’s gun to her chest. Not least convincing, when her gun jammed, the outlaw took Zaheer's bullet in her stead, removed her from the plummeting train in her admittedly hysterical state, albeit with uncouth methods. 

She still hated to base anything on such a loose foundation as hearsay. If only she had burst into the car a moment sooner, before that fateful gunshot fired, she could be certain, have the evidence needed, or far better yet, saved her father’s life. She stopped that track of thought right there. When the "if onlys" started, she was doomed into a falling spiral of guilt as that night was played out over and over again, each a different account of how it all could have been prevented. It’s better to keep laying the rails forward, her father always said, than minding the ones already spiked. 

Now she shared a Nomad camp with the outlaw and the Deputy Sheriff. Their company she found abrasive. Mako meant well, she even welcomed his attentions the day before in a moment of weakness and at recognizing a familiar, living face at last, but that had wilted quickly. She was hardly in a forgiving place of mind. The outlaw, there was no where to begin and no where to end on that front of thought, so she did not bother. Both had a part to play in her father’s demise. However, as heart-wrenching as it was, there was no altering the past and the two could work as means to her ends.

She continued to rattle out thoughts, but she found few definitive solutions for herself. There was too much, the previous few days were laden with too many variables that could explain the broken, unnatural feeling in her chest. She felt a headache mounting already, and that would not do, not before she had even to leave her bedding. 

The sky above was void of all stars except the very brightest now, more like the night sky she knew from her home in Republic City, and it slowly lightened with the sun's eastern march. The birds and insects were joined in their incessant noise by other animal sounds, the origins of which she had no guess. Her expertise lay not in the study of biology, but of metal and coal and steam, powers she could bend to her will. Put her on a factory floor, surrounded by whirring machinery and chugging engines and clanging metal, and she could name each like a favorite song, even distinguish which sung broken tunes and needed fixing or correction, down to the smallest malfunction. She was out of her element in these wilds. 

Asami decided it was time to meet the morning in person, she shed her warm blankets and put on the change of clothes provided to her by the Nomads. Her own had been taken to wash, but froze stiff in the night. She missed their feel already, as she donned the coarse and loose Nomad attire. She stepped from the tent, greeted by desert cold. A fine layer of dry frost coated the ground and the rocks and brush at the camp’s edge, thriving in the shade of the canyon's sides. The sun was a long way yet from gracing the bottom of the Divide, and she started to shiver.

Her eyebrows raised when she found Mako out in the open not ten paces from her tent, on top of a bedroll and beneath a mountain of blankets. The frost layered his bedding as well, but he slept somehow unperturbed. The deputy was dedicated, at least. 

Past him, she caught the flicker of orange flames and shadows on the other side of the wagons, in the camp’s center. The bonfire had already been lit, and craving its warmth, she started towards it. When she passed the last wagon between her and the fire, she paused and nearly turned back the way she came. A solitary figure sat on a rock near the flames, facing them. She could tell the outlaw’s form, even silhouetted as it was against the twisting blaze. 

The very sight of her was enough to summon up a squall of emotion in Asami’s chest, and she hated it. Despite all her struggling to move forward, the outlaw was a constant reminder of how she failed. Asami always had rein over herself, and yet that had started to slip every moment since the outlaw walked into her life. It started with basic intrigue when she appeared, shackled and covered head to boots, in the office car. Sympathy followed, when she saw those scars and markings, covering the outlaw nearly as completely as the disguise, hallmarks of a painful life permanently etched into her dark skin. It had been enough to remind her, though, that despite all her cooperation, she was a dangerous woman, could pose a threat. Not much besides anger and hatred followed since the dinner they all shared. Her father, trusting as he was, let the outlaw near, and the Satos paid dearly for it. 

Asami still stung from their last encounter. She had borrowed Mako's shortened coachgun, unbeknownst to him, and gone to the Nomad girl’s tent while lost in the depths of anguish, every intention to see if she could alleviate her pain by trading a life for a life. She had pulled her gun and fired with killing intent readily enough on the train, and she expected it to be easy. Not as easy as the outlaw would have it, however, and her fingers had frozen on the triggers. Briefly, like a trick of the light, she saw on the other end of those barrels a glimpse of a woman who looked at peace, relieved and free, unlike anything she had ever seen. She envied her in that moment, and could not bring herself to shatter such a beautiful visage, to heartlessly take away life where it looked like it belonged. 

The illusion broke, of course, and the outlaw reacted like she had been wronged by the most grave offense when her life was spared, then brayed like a crazed mule when she determined correctly that Asami was no killer. She had been sorely tempted to prove the outlaw wrong then and there, her mocking too much on top of it all. 

It had all been enough to snap her from the sorrows clouding her head however, and she recognized a good tool when she saw one. It was a risky business, but worth it if the outlaw could be brought to heel. The Satos were known for their daring undertakings.

“Are you gonna keep standing there and watch the fire, or come warm by it?”

Asami was broken from her thoughts by the sudden interruption, and she wondered how her presence had been made known, because the figure on the rock never moved. Now it did, and the outlaw craned to look back her way.

“Oh. It’s you,” she said, and quickly turned back to the fire. The timid reaction caught Asami by surprise. The outlaw’s lingering gazes had not been lost upon her. No attempt had even been made to conceal them.

She was in no mood to have dealings first thing in the morning, but she very well couldn’t retreat now. She felt she had been made enough of a fool the evening before. A cold gale of wind came tearing down the Divide, howling an eerie dirge and cutting through her thin clothing, chilling her even further. It hastened her approach, and she came to stand a few paces from the outlaw’s side. The fire roared almost as high as her head, fed with brush and logs brought down and kept dry in the back of one of the wagons. It spewed a pillar of smoke high above, starkly outlined against the blue-gray sky. Its heat was magnificent, her shivering ceased and she even had to take a step back. Slight wisps of steam escaped the surfaces all around, the frost reduced to vapor and returned heavenwards by the blaze. For a time silence hung between them, only the living wilds, crackling flames and rushing river to be heard.

“How fares your shoulder?” Asami finally ventured, breaking their mutedness.

“What does it mean to you?” The outlaw questioned in way of answer.

“Your degree of usefulness to me varies depending on how soon your shooting arm is in order.” If it was bluntness she received, it was bluntness she would return. She did not want to mince words in the first place. 

“I can shoot well enough with my left, as long as I don’t have to ride a horse at the same time. The movement’s back in my fingers, otherwise I haven’t tried the shoulder.” She turned to Asami then. Her face was haggard and tired, rings lined beneath her blue eyes. “I'm sorry about last night. It makes you no less of a person to have never killed."

"Save your apologies."

"Also, I think it'd be best for you to drop all this."

There it was again, this damned outlaw’s tendency to fill her with sudden fire. It surged through her veins, as hot as the one across from her, nearly clouding her vision with the heat. She did not believe the nerve. The woman sat there and looked up at her with dead seriousness, daring to suggest she let the Red Lotus walk away, leaving her in the shambles of her life. She wondered if the outlaw had been cooperating with them the whole time, and it was all some ruse. The logical, calculating part of her mind that so often guided her actions and thoughts knew how unlikely it was, but it drowned in a sea of flame. Before she was conscious of it, her hand readied in another strike and fell downwards, intended to land squarely across the outlaw’s face.

Asami never made contact, because the outlaw’s left hand shot up with blinding speed and caught her wrist in the middle of its swing. 

“Okay now, that’s about enough of that,” she said cooly. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“What more could you have to say?” Asami spat, trying to break her arm free, but the outlaw’s grip was too strong. “Let me go!"

"You promise to stop hitting me? My pretty mug has taken enough abuse by your hand." The outlaw watched her, waiting for her answer.

Asami stopped her struggling, seeing the outlaw's cheekbone swollen and stained by a dark bruise. Her own knuckles still ached from the first punch, and had marks of their own. The sight lessened the haze choking her reason. She was supposed to be a Sato, not a common thug. She was playing the role of vagabond right now, not the outlaw. Words were supposed to be her instruments of communication, not her fists. The realizations started to cool her head, but her uncontrollable reactions were all the more reason the outlaw disturbed her. 

No harm had been done to Asami, despite all the violence she inflicted. The outlaw's only crime since the Red Lotus attack was her brazen nature. Hearing her out would not be the end of all things, though Asami doubted whatever she had to say would be worthwhile.

Eventually she nodded, and the outlaw released her grip, watching for a time as if to make sure no more blows headed her way. When none did, she reached into a sack at her feet and pulled out a flat biscuit about the size of her hand. She held it over to Asami, who took it and gave it a questioning once over.

"There we go. I don't imagine hardtack is a Sato-worthy breakfast, but it does the trick. Sits in your belly," the outlaw said, and took out a piece for herself, snapping off a bite. 

She was right, it was hardly the meal Asami woke up to every morning, but her stomach was nearing the point of hunger when it would start growling. The Air Nomads had served her a bowl of thin vegetable broth with pieces of root in it the night before, and as expected it did little to fill her. 

She bit down on the hardtack, and was surprised her front teeth remained whole. It took far more effort than it should have to finally break off a piece of the flavorless thing, and even more so to wear it down on her molars to something swallowable.

"Truth be told, Nomads have some of the best hardtack I've had," the outlaw said conversationally, through a mouthful of the stuff. "Rarely ever find maggots in mine. Beats my old army rations. Worm castles, is what we called them back then."

Suddenly she was not hungry anymore, and the practically untouched biscuit found itself toasting in the bonfire.

"Enough," she said, after taking a moment to let a considerable wave of nausea roll past. She had no patience left for pleasantries. "What did you mean by saying I should drop this and let that gang go free?" The very thought made her voice quake. 

The outlaw did not react to the hardtack’s demise nor answer for a time, just continued working at her biscuit and watching the flames. It tried Asami’s nerves further. Only when she finished did she speak. 

“I didn't say they have to go free, but I am saying you don't have to go after them. There’s no place for an unblooded city girl on the hunt for the Lotus gang. They’re tried-and-true killers, everyone of them, accustomed to rough riding and hard living.”

"I may be from the city, but I know how to ride and I can shoot. I spent my summers on my father's ranch and certainly have experience with firearms." 

The outlaw let out a low, empty chuckle. The bonfire had died down slightly, so she leaned over to her left side, drawing forth a large log and tossing it into the flames. They danced delightedly over their new quarry, quickly enveloping it too and inching higher. She watched on, the whole display reflected in her eyes. A cold shift passed over her face and when she spoke again any geniality was absent from her voice. 

"Summertime trots and practice targets, huh? When the time comes, you're more likely to get yourself or others killed, girl. I've seen it happen before, too much for my liking."

Her dismissiveness started to flare up Asami’s ire once again. 

"You will address me as Miss Sato. Last night you gave me your word. Do the promises of an outlaw hold so little weight?" She asked bitterly.

“I had some time to think about it. Your kind’s just not fit for this sort of business.”

“Which kind is?”

"Theirs."

“I suppose it’s a good thing I have you to help me then. I will go after this Red Lotus and you will keep your promise. That’s the end of it,” Asami said, trying to put all the finality she could behind the statement.

The ice in the outlaw’s face broke, and was replaced by a grimace at Asami’s words. It was an expression that took her off guard. She had seen the outlaw’s features twist with agony and hide deep guilt, but this was a hurt different than those and not the reaction she expected. 

Silently the outlaw stood and turned to her. She made no move forwards, but Asami unconsciously took a step back. She was taller in stature, but suddenly she felt small. The woman before her was half cast in flitting shadows by the fire, and the look she held had changed to one far darker. Her presence grew increasingly imposing, as if gathering strength from the last dregs of night before morning finally came. 

“So be it girl,” she said, ignoring Asami’s earlier demand, “you have no idea what kind of hell you’re so eager to step into. I tried being nice, I tried being harsh and I tried to warn you, so don’t say I didn’t. Now I’ll be honest. That woman your deputy escaped? I watched her skin the bottoms off a man’s feet and leave him naked in the desert for trying to quit the Lotus. His screams followed us for six days before they stopped. It was probably the nicest thing I’ve seen her do. _Those_ are the kind you’re after. If we make one misstep, we would’ve been better off riding that train all the way down. You’ll forgive me if I wanted to spare you that, I thought it’d be a favor, especially when you can’t even stomach the thought of a few bugs in your breakfast. I wouldn’t think less of you for going far away, somewhere safe and distant from this spiritsforsaken place. You should leave it to those like Zaheer and his gang. Like me.”

The tirade left Asami stunned, unable to formulate a proper reply for once.

Then the outlaw drained to her former self, the intimidation leaving her. She looked smaller again, tiredness and weariness etched onto her face. She sagged, then shouldered past Asami on her good side.

“You don't deserve this,” was all she said, and it was barely audible over the sounds around them.

By the time Asami turned in the direction she went, the outlaw had disappeared. Another storm seized her chest, but not like the fiery anger she had known. She was still standing there when Tenzin found her. He approached from up the bank, a train of Nomads following in his wake.

“An early riser, hmm?” He spoke, startling her. “You’d make a good Air Nomad. Nothing like meditation before the sun rises. That and a refreshing dip in a river like this, clears the mind and the soul.”

“What?” She asked, not really hearing his words. “Tenzin, when do we depart?”

“We should have the camp disassembled and the wagons ready before noon,” he answered. “I was saying you’d make a good Nomad, you should read some of our philosophies while we’re traveling.”

She nodded and was already walking away before he finished. There was something she needed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, shorter chapter with some narrative switch ups! I was wondering when to add Asami's PoV in, now seemed like a good time. I hope it's not too jarring this late along, but then again we're hardly past the intro, I think. I know this one's mostly recaps from Asami's perspective and one angsty conversation, but I had to set up next chapter.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading guys, I'll see you in the comments or the next chapter! Much love -xyz
> 
> Trivia:  
> Hardtack, staple diet of olden times, especially for sailors, soldiers and travelers! People coined all kinds of names for the bread: worm castles, molar breakers, teeth dullers, sheet iron etc. We made and ate it during an Oregon Trail reenactment I was part of (dork alert), it really wasn't that bad! Probably helped that maggots hadn't gotten to it, though apparently they add much needed flavor for some!?


	11. Thicker Than Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains extremely graphic violence and potentially disturbing material.

The desert sun peeked over the Great Divide’s edge. It fell on Asami’s back as she sat on the riverbank. About her lay the wreckage of the train, the once resplendent gold and scarlet cars twisted and crushed into a nightmarish mockery of themselves. Her chest heaved with sobs of frustration and she looked at her hands, covered in a grime of dirt and dried gore. Her sweat and tears fell upon them, running tracks through the mess. 

Behind her lay a grisly scene, the unfinished fruits of her morning’s labor. She had collected the remains of the train’s victims that she could find, lining them in a row far enough from the river so they would be safe from its swell come rain season in the mountains. Only eight bodies were intact enough to earn a place of their own, and of those only three she recognized enough to name. The rest she gathered in macabre piles. Her intention was to build rough cairns over them with the stones nearby, to spare them from further predation by scavengers but also as an act of repentance, atonement to the lives lost. It would be an incomplete burial, but the most she could accomplish on the rocky bank without tools for digging. 

However, simply lining the remains had taken the better part of the day, and only two of the cairns were completed. It was easier in the early morning, when shade and frost spared her the worst of the grim business. Then the dry heat began to climb with the sun in the sky. The stench of rot was released from its cold prison, the insects and vermin that made homes in the dead flesh emerged. Soon the flies started to gather and the air was quickly rank with their swarms and they flocked in impossible numbers to the deceased. Now she could not see some of the bodies for their squirming masses and no matter how she tried to scatter them, they always quickly coalesced back into their dark orgy. Their incessant hum was all she could hear.

It was not the physicality of her undertaking that had her often taking breaks by the water. Her figure was slender but fit, her body a machine she took pride in keeping finely tuned. It was the sweltering miasma, the hopelessness before her, the constant need to retch when she so much as looked at what remained of the world she knew. Until two nights ago, everything was intact and whole. Now she felt as fragmented and torn apart as the train, as the remains behind her.

When she started out originally, a small part of her hoped to find some trace of her father. After a short time, she counted it a mercy that she did not. Finding him in a similar state as the others would utterly break her. His car was not among those on land, and she hoped at least he could rest undisturbed beneath the waters.

Asami was torn from her sorrows when she caught the echo of voices on the canyon’s walls, breaking over the noise of the flies. Her head snapped in their direction and her first thought was that someone had followed her from the Nomad camp, despite her insistence to go alone. The voices came from the opposite direction of the camp however, and they were of a rough and coarse manner of speech that belonged to nobody she knew. She counted more than one speaker. The emotion in her fled as alertness replaced it, and by instinct she scrambled to her feet and backed away from the riverbank and remains, taking shelter behind a low rise of rocks and brush and peering over them.

She heard the voices come nearer, until two figures appeared from up the bank on her side. They made their way to where she had just been, looking over the wreckage and unfinished graves. They were a man and a woman, and they were filthy from long days without bathing. Their dark hair was matted beneath tattered hats, their clothing and boots in dismal condition. Despite their dingy appearance, they looked strong and travel-hardened. They came close enough for her to pick out their conversation, the two speaking with an unsophisticated drawl.

"I ain't likin the look of this, brother," the woman said. She stood near the row of bodies, glancing about warily. "There ain't nothin natural about all these folks lined up as they is. We should leave 'em be."

"Quit your nonsense sis, you’s always gettin jumpy near the dead," the brother replied. "Look it here, someone was tryna bury this lot. Musta decided it wasn't worth the effort." He let out a barking laugh, then spat in the direction of the remains. "The dead ain't good for nothin but what they’s carryin." He crouched next to one of the bodies, drawing a long knife from a leather sheath at his side, gesturing to the cars with it and shooing the flies away with his other hand. "Go check them train wagons, see if anythin's left." 

The sister hesitated briefly but complied, and he began to saw through the clothing of the body before him, murmuring to himself.

“What’s you hidin my lovely?” He cooed. The brother pawed around the neck, searching for valuables. Finding nothing, he cursed and spat again, this time directly in the deceased’s face. He turned his attention lower. With a triumphant "ha!", he held up the corpse's left hand. On one finger glinted a ring, and rather than try to pry it off, he set to removing the entire digit with his knife. When he finished, he pulled the ring off and tossed the finger away, reaching up to wipe away the spit and patting the corpse’s cheek fondly. “I’m sorry my lovely, I knew you’d be good to me.”

Asami watched on the whole time, seething with rage and disgust at the injustice of his desecration. She sat, trying to determine what course of action to take. She was unarmed and outnumbered, but she could try and scare the grave robbers away. Their sort were more likely to flee at the sign of trouble than stay and fight, she thought. 

Something by the water's edge caught the brother's attention, who had turned away from his unliving victim to appraise his prize. He pocketed the ring and stepped over to it, leaning down and picking it up. He pulled a thin silver chain up out of the river, and at the end of it hung a small circle, catching the sunlight and reflecting it her way. Asami gasped, recognizing her father's monocle instantly. The brother looked at it for a moment, then placed it over his eye. He started to chortle.

“I’s always fancied myself a gentleman,” he spoke to no one. “All I need me now’s a fine dame on my arm.”

Asami could contain herself no longer at watching the ruffians defile the site, disturbing the dead with their crude hands and base greed. She stood and bounded over the rocks and brush, no plan in mind but a fire inside, once again stirring her to action before she could think about it.

"Stop!" She shouted across the bank. The brother jumped in place by the water's edge, rounding quickly towards her. At first he had a startled look, but when he saw only Asami and scanned her for threats, he relaxed and a mean grin spread across his face. 

"Well look it here, ask the spirits and ye shall receive," he said. “This spot’s fulla all kinda treasures.” He put his fingers to his mouth and gave a quick, sharp whistle. Shortly the sister emerged from one of the ruined cars, alert and holding a few small trinkets, not far from Asami's left. She looked to the brother, then found Asami, and matched her sibling with an equally wicked smile.

“Hello pretty lady, get lost out here did we?” She said, and ever so slowly she began to move Asami’s way, dropping the trinkets and putting one foot steadily in front of the other. The brother followed suit, crouching slightly into a ready stance, inching from the direction of the river and holding his knife behind him in a poor attempt to conceal it from her. He squinted through her father’s monocle still, the elegant thing looking horribly wrong on the dirty man. 

Asami stood in place, at a loss now that she was this far. It was unlike her to charge in without strategizing beforehand, but she had counted on the villains to cut and run, not turn on her. They advanced closer, their gait slow and agile, poised with feline grace and predatory eyes like seasoned hunters. Danger emanated from them in waves, and now all of Asami’s instincts, her logic and self-preservation, screamed at her to turn and flee. 

Yet she held her ground, not frozen in fear but rooted in place by indignation and anger. She doubted she could outdistance them in the first place. They watched her carefully, as if anticipating her to break away at any moment. She was a quick runner, but by their lithe movements and conditioned bodies, they would likely flow over the rough terrain where she struggled, close on her with superior speed. 

“Drop what you have taken and leave here now,” she stated, “and I will let you go free.” 

That earned laughs from the both of them, and the way their eyes trailed over her made her skin crawl.

“Now why’d we do that?” The brother asked. His teeth were disgusting, yellowed and rotted in turns. “I don’t think you’s in much a place to be tellin us what to do, missy. Let’s say you give yourself up nice and easy like, we don’t mean you no harm.”

“My friends will soon be here, and if you aren’t gone by then they’ll skin your feet and leave you in the desert,” she said, spouting the first lies that came to mind. It was enough to get a pause from the sister, who glanced at the brother. 

“I ain’t likin the sounda that,” she said. “Maybe we should get.”

He waved her worries away like the flies that hovered about them. 

“Horseshit, no doubt. I betcha these lot’s all the friends she had,” he said, pointing at the row of dead and chuckling. 

Asami’s fists clenched at her sides at the truth in the brother’s words, but did not let it show on her face. Instead she angrily shook her head, throwing out the only names she could think of that might scare these two.

“You’re wrong. I’ve got Avatar Korra and the Red Lotus gang right behind me.”

The brother’s grin turned to confusion, and he paused as well.

“The who and the what?” He asked. “I ain’t heard of ‘em, and I ain’t afeared of what I ain’t heard of, missy.”

“Wait brother,” the sister started. “Ain’t that Avatar the one from the posters? The one who butchered all them Northers? I heard tell she disappeared out here, killin and scalpin everybody she sees like them savages do.”

The brother snorted, and his grin returned.

“I’ll tell you what I see, and it ain’t no purple lettuce gang or boogeywomen. Just a lone girl in a fix. That’s enough lies outta you missy, I don’t think anybody’s comin to help. It ain’t the first time a pretty little thing’s tried to scare us off with big words.” He giggled to himself and began moving forward again. The sister followed, emboldened by the brother’s certainty.

The siblings were within fifteen paces of her and they slowly separated to her left and right, flanking her sides. The brother made no attempt to conceal his blade anymore and held the wicked thing before him. Asami’s anger finally started to slip into something more akin to fear. Her bluffs had failed and she was entrapped between the two. She tensed, slowly taking steps back until she felt the rocks and brush she had leapt over press against her legs. They stopped, five paces away now, wearing their smiles. A pit of dread grew in her stomach, her breathing hastened. There was a space between them, through it she could see the river. 

It was a choice between fight or flight and Asami chose the latter, bursting forwards in a desperate sprint. She thought she had taken the siblings by surprise when she cleared past them, free in her break for the water. Her elation was short lived. A hard grip on her hair yanked her back, she shouted at the sudden pain and her legs went out from under her. She slammed onto the ground, stunned by the impact. The sister leaned over her.

“They always fall for that one,” she sneered.

Asami shot up and scrambled forwards on her hands and knees, away from the sister and back towards the water. Again her escape was thwarted, another grip closed on her ankle, dragging her the way she came. She kicked viciously, but only met empty space. Her leg was twisted to the side, forcing her to roll over with it. This time it was the brother leering at her. He evaded her further attempts to kick him.

“Let me go, you scum!” She shouted at him.

“Now now, play nice missy. You get what you give,” he said, waving the knife back and forth in an admonishing motion. The sister crouched at his side, then dragged a tongue across her chapped and split lips. 

“Where do you wanna start, brother?” She asked.

“I’m feelin awful peculiar about fingers today,” he replied. “Why don’t we play us a bit of the knife game?”

The sister nodded in eager agreement, but then took on a look of consternation.

“It’s gonna be over quick if she’s squirmin the whole time, it’ll take all the fun out of it.”

“Hmm, you’s right sis,” he answered. Then a realization dawned on him. “Who says she still has to have her hand on to play? We’ll just remove her of that burden and use it for ourselves.”

“You’s always been the genius, brother,” she said admiringly. “I’ll hold her down, you get your knife ready.”

The entire time Asami had been struggling to free herself from the brother’s hold on her. The sick conversation between the siblings doubled her efforts, but to no success. The sister stood and made to pin her to the ground, forcing her right arm out and splaying her hand on a scalding stone. 

“Get off me!” She snarled, twisting under the sister, but the woman sat upon her like a boulder. 

“Whoo, a wild mare ain’t got nothin on this girl’s spirit,” she said. “Take it slow brother, it’s never fun when they break quick.”

The brother released her ankle, and moved to where her arm waited. He finally took the monocle off, putting it on the ground and placed a fond touch on her wrist.

“Such a pretty sight, such pretty skin, might have to save me some. Almost a shame to ruin it,” he said. “Almost.”

His touch turned into a grip, and he set his knife against her wrist hard enough to draw blood, readying it in a sawing position. Asami cried out at the cold bite of metal, but gritted her teeth and refused to resort to pleading despite all the horror that filled her.

Suddenly a medium sized stone whistled over her with ferocious speed. It struck hard against the sister’s head with an audible crack and enough force to loosen the woman’s perch on Asami, then clattered to the ground. 

“Ow! Shit! Fuck! The hell was that?!” She cried, holding a hand to her injury. Blood seeped through her fingers and out of her hair, down her neck. The siblings both turned their attention to where the stone had seemingly come from.

Asami took the chance offered to her, yanking her arm free and bucking herself at last from under the sister’s weight, rolling away and jumping to her feet, holding her cut wrist. She backed up rapidly, looking in the same direction they had. She saw only a thicket of dry brush.

“Go and see what that’s all about,” the brother commanded, “I’ll finish this up, a little more quickly than I woulda liked.” 

The sister huffed, shooting a glare at Asami for her transgression.

“Leave something left to me, I ain’t likin her thinkin she’s so high and mighty for bestin me in my moment of weakness” she said, then bolted towards the thicket. 

That left Asami and the brother facing her. With the aid of an unknown ally and the numbers evened for now, she decided it was time to fight. She stooped to her feet to take a rock in hand, ignoring the pain in her wrist, and rushed him. She closed the distance in a few strides and swung the rock at his head, but he stepped nimbly back and out of the way. He shuffled lightly on his feet, appearing to enjoy the dance. 

"You do got spirit missy!" He cackled, and waved his knife in front of him like a viper's head. "Let's change that."

He darted forward and laid a quick, shallow swipe across the side of her left arm, then sprung back before she could retaliate. She winced, he continued his cackling and tongued the edge of his blade clean from her blood. 

“Mmm, sweeter than I coulda imagined,” he said relishingly, and his eyes filled with lust for blood.

He continued his prancing for a time, then repeated a similar strike, this time across the front of her right thigh. Again on her other arm, then across her hip. He enjoyed his toying, but Asami endured the pain. It did not take her long to analyze his movements and unravel his pattern. The next time he came into attack she deftly dodged his knife, stepped close and slammed the stone against his sternum. He buckled to the ground, wheezing, then started to laugh again.

“Missy, I said play nice, you get what you give.”

Before she could react, he took a handful of dust and pebbles from under him and hurled it towards her, it got in her eyes and mouth and nose. She reeled, trying to clear her face with her other hand. It was too late, because she felt the rock knocked from her grip and a heavy weight collided against her with crushing force. She was lifted clear in the air for a brief moment, then her back contacted the hard ground with a jarring shock. Her head flung against a rock, leaving her dazed.

The next she knew, she felt the brother atop her, straddling her sides. A rough, calloused hand closed around her neck and squeezed in a vice. Her vision was blurry, both from the dirt and the hit to her head, but the brother's form loomed over her, his face not far from hers. He smelled worse than he looked and his putrid breath raked across her face, hot and foul. 

"You know what I like most about the dead?" He asked, through lips pulled back in something more feral than a grin at his triumph and gritted, rotten teeth. "They don't fight back, not when you take their things and not when you take them. We're gonna take great care of you, I promise."

Black started at the corners of her eyes as her need for oxygen became increasingly urgent. She struggled to pull choking breaths past the hand around her neck, but mouthed uselessly and the brother’s clasp only tightened. She tried to buck him free, but his mass was greater than hers. She clawed at his arm and face, scraping long tracks into both, but he was unphased and her efforts grew weaker. Tingling started at the ends of her limbs as sensation began to leave, a numbness spreading through her body. 

The brother leaned up from her, and she saw his other hand raise with him. The outline of his jagged blade stood starkly against the blue sky, and then it fell with a murderous intent towards her. 

Not like this. Not here. Not yet.

Her last vestiges of consciousness were spent on those thoughts, and the adrenaline of survival moved her left arm into action, shielding the knife. It pierced her forearm with a vicious rip, glanced off bone and tore further up towards her elbow. It was her first serious cut, and a feeling she would never forget. She wondered if the whole limb had been removed, so deep she felt the blade. She screamed and her blood flowed freely. 

The pain and the adrenaline shot her other arm out, searching for anything to grab around her. The brother pulled his knife free, almost forcing her into a catatonic state. 

"You’re making this harder than it needs to be missy!" He snarled, pushing his weight down on the hand about her neck, raising the knife yet again. Her fingers scraped dirt as she flailed her arm about, her nails breaking in their scrabbling. Her brief spurt of energy started to leave, herself nothing but a shell in its absence. 

Smooth. Hard. Blazing hot beneath the sun. Her hand closed around another stone. 

The brother dropped his blade with a lethal plunge, but by some desperate miracle she slammed the stone into the side of his head first. He jerked to the side, the knife stabbing into the dirt a hair's breath from her head. His grip loosened for just an instant, then she hit him again, directly in the nose. His hold fell away completely from her neck. One last hit with the stone, all the rest of her strength behind it. This one slammed against the front of his mouth with a telling crunch. He howled, releasing the knife and bringing both hands to his face and falling back. He rolled in the dirt, their legs entangling with each other. 

She choked on the air that suddenly filled her lungs, coughing and gagging at the abrupt liberation. She clutched her left arm in its agony, sitting up and kicking herself free of the brother. 

"Aauugh! Yew dam biff!" He shouted from his place in the dirt, bloody spittle and bits of broken teeth spraying out of his torn lips. "Yew'll fuckin pay fer faff, yew hear?!"

Asami found the knife sunk into the ground next to her, yanking it free. Her hands were slippery with her own blood on the grip. She got to her knees over the fallen brother. 

The venom surged in her heart. 

This man hurt her, made the pain she had been suffering inside manifest in her own flesh and blood. In that moment she hated him more than she had ever hated before. For all the anger, all the helplessness, all the sorrow in her. For being who he was, the way he talked, his desecration of the dead. For making her bleed, rolling her in the dirt, killing her.

Reason had no place in her mind as she fell upon him, a vicious shout ripping from her. It was all the instinct of a beast that drove the knife down, towards where she thought the heart hid. Her first attempt was unsuccessful, the tip of the blade failed to pass through his rib cage and instead cut a jagged line across his breast. He screamed a bloodcurdling shout, tried to roll away, flung his hands at her to make her stop or to put distance between them, but she dodged and followed, retrying her attack. Another unsuccessful attempt, this one missed altogether and pierced his stomach. Her slick hands slipped over the handle with the contact, cutting her palms on the blade and losing her hold. She let out a scream of her own, but the pain only enraged her further. The brother got to his hands and knees weakly and tried crawling away with the knife sticking out of his gut. She did not let him get far, not when he failed to spare her that courtesy earlier. She sprang after him and gripped the handle again, heedless of how it hurt her hands and tore it free. It ripped a long gash on its way out of him, his belly opened and a rain of blood and innards splashed onto the ground in a gruesome slop. His shouting continued, turned to choked pleas, he curled into a ball holding his wounded stomach as if trying to keep the rest of himself from spilling out. 

His cries fell on deaf ears. 

“You! Fucking! Scum!” She yelled, punctuating each word with a plunge of the knife. She continued, raising the blade and dropping it again, and again and again and again. Soon her rage turned into a kind of panicked frenzy and she cared not where the knife landed.

Why did he keep breathing? 

She stabbed.

Why did he keep moving?

She slashed.

Why did he keep living?

She sliced.

This was not how it was supposed to work, it was supposed to be over by now. Machines you could turn off with a switch or remove one part to end their running. Why was a human so different? Those thoughts were at the front of her mind, the butchery happening far away by other hands. 

She did not feel the accusing sun or its scorching glare as it hung at its highest. She did not notice the hot ribbons of scarlet that tendriled through the air and painted her in entirety. She did not taste the iron and copper in her mouth. She did not realize the screams had stopped. She did not recognize the mess before her anymore.

She did not cease until a hand grasped her wrist when she raised the knife again, painfully closing around her cut. She rounded ferally, trying to twist her violence on her new assailant, unseeing. Her attempts were to no avail, the person pried the knife from her fist with iron fingers, throwing it to the ground. Then they crouched to her level, placing a gentle hand on her right shoulder.

"Asami, stop. Look at me," a calm voice spoke. "Can you hear me?"

The sound was like soothing water, clearing the red haze from her eyes and mind. Gradually she began to see and found two pools of clear blue searching her face. They held neither pity nor fear nor judgement, they only looked at her. Her wrath fell away completely, retreating like a beast into a dark and primitive unknown, logic and sanity began their ascent again. She clung to that saving stare as emptiness opened a chasm within her, for it was constant and unwavering.

"Oh. Oh spirits," she quaked, holding her hands in front, tearing her gaze from the eyes of the outlaw and looking down, unable to face her but unwanting to see what she had become. It was a useless desire, because all that greeted her was once pale skin now coated in death.

"Spirits is right," the outlaw sighed, looking at the man, if he could still be called as much. "Can't think of a worse way to make your first kill than with a knife. It's a little personal and always messy."

Asami started to tremble, slightly at first, then violently. The motion shook drops of blood onto the ground, it ran off her in sticky streams and fed into an ocean of scarlet around them, hers and the brother's both. Her chest resonated with sharp need, for life and warmth and escape from it all. Before she could stop herself she lunged forward and wrung her hands tightly in the outlaw’s shirt, pulling herself close and burying her face against the outlaw’s good shoulder. Her sobs came full-bodied and unhindered, deeper than any she had loosed since the train fell into the Divide. The outlaw kept her hand in place on Asami, stoic and unmoving against the spent emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, damn. What a chapter to write. I knew I said a while back I'd leave out warnings, but I feel this one warranted it. Took me a long time to edit, I hope the final product is satisfactory! I had more at the end, but I'm saving it for next chapter. It will cover all the aftermath of this. 
> 
> Leave me your delicious thoughts, questions, critiques and more down in them comments! My most heartfelt thanks to everyone reading this story, and especially those of you that comment! You can also find me at [my tumblr blog](http://eckswhaixi.tumblr.com/) where I post ATLA/LoK/art/writing stuff (mostly LoK stuff tho). As always, super love -xyz
> 
> Trivia:  
> The knife game, also called five finger fillet, is a game where one spreads their fingers out on a surface and jabs a knife between the finger-spaces in a certain pattern, as fast as they can without stabbing themselves.
> 
> EDIT: I changed the rating to explicit after this chapter, I think it will be more fitting for this story!


	12. Be Still, Be Still

Once the floodgates opened, Asami found them difficult to close again. She lost track of how long they sat amidst the death and the gore, the world around her forgotten. She started to feel the sting of her wounds again, the ache of a knot swelling where her head bashed against rock, but it was distant compared to the rip in her heart. A yawning darkness threatened to swallow her into its black depths, she held on for dear life to the woman before her and tried in vain to take back control over her emotion. She was helpless to stop it as the terror of what just transpired began to bleed with everything else. The suffocating toll of loss was too much.

She thought she had already suffered enough, that the mounting sorrows had reached there limit. Her mother and a once promised love, her father and everything she knew with him; she did not think their was anything left. 

But now she had lost herself.

It was evidenced by the savagery just behind her, by the blood and the uncontrollable tears that flowed from her and off her freely, by her need to just feel life, to be assured such a thing still existed in the veritable graveyard around them. She knew it with each pump of her heart and by the poison that still rushed through her veins.

So she gave up the fight and surrendered herself to the plummeting fall inwards. She released what rein she had left, if there was any, and let it all course through her. It welled up from the very bottom of her soul, the black stuff breaking free of the metallic vault where she suppressed the worst of her shadows. In the span of minutes, she wracked with years of that darkness that only seemed to worsen, the kind that lurks at the edges of the mind but dissipates whenever a grasp is attempted upon it, the shade that tones even the brightest day with its colorless hue. She released her need to contain it, to keep it pushed back and it leapt at the opportunity, it surged forward and out of her and she wondered that her tears were not as black as oil at its departure.

And she was despair, for a time.

Eventually the sobs slowed, until she was left drawing ragged, hiccuping breaths. She recalled who it was that she pressed against, and a sudden urge to pull away filled her. However, she was too spent to care enough and instead she floated into that drained purgatory that follows such an intense release of emotion, accepting what comfort she could find, even if she found it in the outlaw of all people. Her breathing slowly calmed. She heard the woman's rhythmic pulse against her ear, she felt her warmth through the cold that froze her heart, she smelled her scent past the blood and she knew this was a living person, someone flesh and blood and real and human, and nothing more than that mattered inside that moment, whatever transgressions that lay between the two of them forgotten by her.

She felt the sun over them, blazing its endless warpath across the sky, she could hear the river again over the flies. A gentle breeze snaked its way down and through the canyon, she felt it lightly toss the hair of the woman she clung to, the way it chilled her through the blood soaked clothes that stuck to her. For a time her world consisted of her senses only, and it was all a respite she needed. Much later she would liken those moments to the first sensations of new life, the beginning of something else from the desolate ruin of her heart and her surroundings, but for now she was lost like a ship adrift at sea, storm beaten and directionless in strange waters.

The woman who sat with her spoke not a word the whole while, and Asami silently thanked her for that. Maybe she knew there was nothing to be said, that could be said. She only remained in place and was either unphased or undisturbed by the ordeal, not pulling away from the bloodsoaked mess breaking apart against her and it was all Asami needed.

Korra. That was this woman’s name. Asami had not spoken it out loud until today, and even then it was in bluff. Yet here she was, very real and very present and once again having saved her life. She had been an easy target to pin all the blame and anger on, but it was made more difficult with each passing day. She was not the bloodthirsty villain she was supposed to be.

Asami finally pried herself free and released her death grip on Korra’s shirt. Her palms stuck to the fabric at first, the cuts upon them having run twin streaks of blood down the front of it. She sniffed, and made to wipe her nose, but stopped when she saw her forearm covered in scarlet. Korra noticed, and in silence reached up to tear free cloth from her right sleeve with one deft tug, handing the makeshift kerchief over. Asami took it in hands steady again.

“Thanks,” Asami mumbled through it, and blew her nose. “Sorry I got blood and tears all over you.”

“I’d like to say it’s something new, but it isn’t,” Korra said wryly. “But now's not the time for gallows humor. How bad are you injured? How much of that blood's yours?” 

Her words drew Asami’s attention to just how much she was covered, and she looked down at herself again. Her breath started quicker as it came back in flashes. The rotten siblings, the life crushed out of her, the cut of a blade, then the give of flesh beneath it, the squelch of blood, its taste still in her mouth, watching death happen in all of its stages–

She felt a warm and calloused hand under her chin, tilting her head back up. Korra looked her dead in the eyes, still as calm as ever.

"Hey, stay with me. We'll deal with this one step at a time," she said. "Are you hurt bad?"

"Just some cuts," Asami answered distantly.

"You fit to stand?"

"I think so."

"That's a start. We'll get you back to camp and have the Nomads look after you."

Korra stood then and held out her left hand. Asami took it and was helped up onto shaky legs. In the process she made the mistake of looking back. She only caught the briefest of glimpses before Korra's hand left hers, and she felt its gentle roughness against the side of her face, turning her head back. It was too late. She bent over and retched at Korra's feet.

Shame and dignity were the farthest notions from her mind, replaced by visions of strips of flesh clinging to bone and gaping gashes that smiled at her and anatomy she should be able to place by the diagrams in her books but it was all an indiscernible mess to her and the brother looked up like some twisted, broken marionette cut free of its strings and left useless in a jumble on the ground. She was responsible for it. There was no helping the tidal upheaval because nausea permeated her very core and she lost the few rations she had managed in the last day. 

Korra neither backed away in disgust or said anything, but stepped to her side and gathered Asami's hair and held it back. It did not last long, but it left her feeling rotten and beyond exhausted, more than she already was. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, uncaring about the blood there.

"Spirits. What have I done?" She implored the stones and dirt at her feet.

"You survived," the outlaw answered in the ground's place.

"I killed...I killed him," she choked on the word. It sounded so foreign, so invasive.

"Pretty damn dead by the looks of it," came the reply.

Asami snapped her head up, half expecting to see some cruel expression of revel or delight in the bloodshed on the outlaw's face, but she met only a stone serious countenance.

"You're the one still pulling breath, so take that for what it is."

Korra stooped and picked up the knife from where it had fallen. She handed it to Asami, handle forward.

"This is yours," she said.

She recoiled away from it. The long blade and bone handle had a rust of blood, giving the weapon an appearance like that of a wicked tooth ripped from the jaw of some great monster. 

“Get that away from me,” she yelped. She wanted no further reminder thrust before her.

“All right,” the outlaw said, pulling the knife back, “though you should learn to make use of everything you earn out here. We’ll get headed to camp, but first there’s a little more business to be done.” She started to walk away, checking to see if Asami was able to follow. 

Her steps came awkwardly at first, her limbs learning how to work again after so much exertion and prolonged sitting. She winced as her cuts screamed out, the most deafening located in her arm, but managed to stifle it.

Korra, satisfied, led her to the thicket where the saving stone had been thrown from. In front of it lay the sister on the ground in an undignified sprawl. She was knocked out cold, her chest rose and fell steadily and a small pool of blood collected around her head. Korra came to her side and crouched. She turned to Asami.

“This could turn a bit unpleasant, you can go on down by the river if you want.”

Asami barely heard her and made no answer, just watched. Korra shrugged and focused her attention back on the sister. She brought the knife to the unconscious woman's neck, then pressed down slowly until a thin line of blood joined that which already stained the blade. After a few moments the sister jerked awake and went rigid at the feel of metal against skin.

“No sudden movements now,” Korra spoke, an icy steel creeping into her voice. “Don’t want to slit your own throat.”

The sister’s eyes rolled wildly around, taking in her whereabouts. Her ugly face twisted into a snarl when she saw Asami, but then found Korra above her. She froze. 

“Oh shit. She wasn’t lyin,” she said, and tried to gulp but the knife against her neck made it difficult. “You’re that Avatar. You really did come."

Korra turned to Asami with a frown. "What's she going on about?"

"I...bluffed to scare them off. I said you and the Red Lotus were nearby," Asami answered. "She knew you by your wanted posters."

Korra's face darkened, and the glare in her eyes turned to something blanker, flatter. The change was near enough to send shivers through Asami, she had seen a few pairs of eyes something like that recently. Just looking back at them was enough to twist a disturbed knot in the pit of her stomach, they were wrong in the face of the living. 

"Make a point of never speaking your name, my name or the Red Lotus's to strangers," Korra stated in a tone to match her gaze.

Asami nodded and did not envy the sister when the outlaw looked back down.

“Well you know who I am, that might make this easier. I’m gonna ask you a few questions, you best answer right. The handle on this knife’s a little unwieldy, it’d be a shame if it slipped in my hand. Do you get me?”

The sister attempted a meek nod, but winced against the blade. 

"How many of there are you?"

“Please don’t kill me an' scalp me,” she begged. 

A look of disgusted anger crossed Korra’s face. “I don’t scalp,” she said, spitting the word. “Shut up and answer. How many of there are you?”

“Just me an' brother," the sister squeaked, then a frantic urgency crossed her face. "Where’s he at?”

“My questions first. Where’d you come from?”

"You promise he's a'right?"

Korra nodded a lie, and some of the anxiety left the sister.

“We came from up north, outta them mountains. Thought there’d be better pickins down here, then we heard the Sato train went missing near the Divide. We counted ourselves lucky sons-a-bitches when we found that blasted bridge an' saw the train down here, thought we's the first to find it.”

“How’d you hear about it?”

The sister managed a weak snort. “Half the world already knows the train disappeared.”

“Hmm. You seen any travelers in the last few days, headed the way you came from?”

The sister shook her head. “The last folks we met was some prospectors a week back, goin west. They ain’t goin much farther though."

“You killed them?”

“All I’s sayin is we took care of them an' their things. Them prospectors ain’t nothin but fools hopin to strike rich on some fever-dreams. They don’t know where the real riches are to be found, aren’t I right? You’re an outlaw, sure as hell you woulda done the same.”

Korra’s hold on the knife tightened and it dug a little deeper against the sister’s neck.

“I’m nothing like you vermin,” Korra growled, low and dangerous. “That’s all I needed to hear."

“Are you gonna kill me an' scalp me now?” The sister asked fearfully.

Korra removed the blade, pointing down the bank with it. “Your brother’s that way.”

The sister stared at the knife, and that panic started again.

"That's brother's knife. Why do you got brother's knife?" She asked worriedly.

"Why don't you take a look."

She jerked her head in the direction it pointed. Her eyes fell on what remained of her sibling. She wore a blank, dumb expression. Then the first signs of horror started in her eyes.

“Brother?” She asked, a plea entering her voice. “Brother! Broth‒”

Asami only had time to jump with surprise before it was over. Korra turned the long knife downwards and jammed it hard into the soft spot of the sister's upturned temple, all in one fluid motion. The length of it disappeared up to the handle into her skull with uncanny precision. Enough emerged out of the other side to impale her head to the riverbank. Her body seized for a brief instant, then went flaccid and still, her horror still on her face and her shout unfinished.

The outlaw wore a hard and unflinching mask, that flat stare remained.

“I don’t scalp,” she said again, "though it’s a shame you knew who I was.” She stood and placed a boot unceremoniously on the sister’s head, then reached down to take the knife’s grip once more and yanked it free. It slid out with a sickening _schlick_. She wiped its fresh coat of slime clean on the front of the sister’s shirt.

"I'm sorry you had to see that,” she spoke to Asami, looking down at the newly made corpse, "especially after what you've been through, but it might be a common sort of thing in the days to come."

By now Asami’s hand had clamped over her mouth, heedless of the cut on it. She had expected the outlaw to be harsh in her treatment, even allowed herself some dark and vindictive hope for it, but did not expect this. She was too sapped from her outburst earlier to extend much sympathy to the dead sister, but watching life taken before her twice in the span of an hour jarred her soul and her nerves were shot enough as it was. Another tremble started in her hands. 

She had just murdered herself, and it was far messier, but maybe that was what startled her the most. The bloodlessness and brevity of the entire thing, the ease with which it was carried out, they were terrible. Those were practiced motions by hands experienced in death dealing, such a stark contrast to her aimless flailing. She wondered what monstrosity hid in her heart, because somewhere deep behind her fearful shock lay a cold appreciation for such efficiency.

Korra looked at her, and life entered her face again when she winced at what she saw. She lowered the knife and walked over, but stopped when Asami took a step back. A kind of pain and shadow fell over her face.

Asami's movement backwards had been an unconscious motion. It was not fear but basic instinct. Few would hold ground or step forward to greet the approach of a panther, and that was the kind of predator she finally saw in the woman before her, and something of it reminded her of the way the siblings had stalked after her. Her corded muscles, her half-at-the-ready stance, the way she held the knife like it was an extension of herself, of her being; she looked able to pivot from peace to violence in the space of a breath. In fact, she had. One moment she held Asami on the bank, the next she murdered without hesitation. It was one thing to know someone was a hardened killer, but another to see it so vividly. Her sudden and brutal actions shattered the passive facade she had shown until now. From behind that dark storm of tortured guilt the outlaw bore upon her shoulders, ruthlessness struck like a whip of lightning, sudden and fearsome and then gone again. She did not know whether to feel relief or trepidation at finding a tentative ally in this woman.

"I took no pleasure in that," Korra said, looking away from Asami and out towards the river. She tucked the knife into her waistband, "but I'll head back to camp ahead of you if you'd rather I leave."

Being left on the bank amidst all the carnage and ruin was the last thing Asami wanted, no matter what sort of company she had.

"No!" she blurted, then regained her poise and stilled her trembling hands as best she could. "You just caught me by surprise." 

She looked at the motionless body. Something not entirely blood and not entirely brain leaked from the slits in the sister's temples. It slid down her face, collected like sap in the dirt. The flies had already begun to fall on their new prize, yet another indulgence among the banquet around them. Nausea threatened.

"Why'd you kill her?"

Korra kept her eyes on the river, watching the dark waters flow past for a while and not answering immediately as she seemed to have a way of doing. Finally she pulled free of it and looked at Asami, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Like I said, not a single misstep. Everyday Zaheer and his think we're dead is a boon, and it wouldn't do to have this one going and spreading tales about how her brother died. You never know whose ears might be listening. I know it's poor justification for cold blooded killing, but I doubt the world’s worse off for these two anyhow. Kind like theirs, they had it coming. Might even be we've spared some others suffering a worse fate at their hands."

Asami nodded her head slowly at that, the reasoning was sound enough for her. She considered herself a woman of logic despite the trials her sanity had endured these last few days. Some part of her found solace then, that the outlaw's actions had not been senseless in the judgement they meted out. In a way it validated her own killing and the subsequent comfort she had found in Korra's presence.

“I’m not saying we have to string up or gut everyone who sees us,” Korra continued, “but it’s in our best interest to lay low. My face is known across this whole damned desert I reckon, but yours should be safe for the most part, as long as we stay far from Future Industries and keep our names to ourselves. I never saw you in the papers."

“I was keen on staying out of the public eye,” Asami said, “and my father...agreed.” 

Just the mention of him hurt her still. She thought her heart was barren by now, but the pain trickled in and threatened to flood her all over again. As if in response to her emotion, a wave rolled through her body and she felt more acutely her wounds and she gasped, clenching her arm and nearly doubling over.

“Easy there,” Korra said, concern lacing her words. “Let’s get you back to camp, there’ll be plenty of time for talk on the road.”

She walked over briskly, reaching out to offer support, but Asami stopped her with an upraised hand. 

“No, I’m fine,” she panted. “I’m not finished here.”

“With what?”

“Putting them to rest,” she answered, gesturing at the line of remains. 

“You’re fit to join them if you bleed out, we need to get you taken care of. You can finish this later,” Korra said, stern and admonishing. 

A kind of stubbornness started up in Asami's chest, and she refused to back away now. Pain be damned, like hell she would let those wretched siblings deter her from what she set out to do, let alone after they were gone. She stood upright and assertively, stuffing the pain back down. “I started this, and I’ll see it done. Right now, even if it kills me.”

Korra grew stubborn as well. “Where'd that get you? Are you thinking any of this through, this whole vendetta of yours? Recklessness is gonna get you killed, as all this should've shown you well enough." She waved her arm over the whole scene, Asami's personal hell.

"Sorry," Asami started, her voice at first quiet, but it mounted in loudness as she spoke, "if I've about had it with being helpless. What good is it if I can't even bury my friends? What chance do I have of finding your gang then? What good am I?!" She ended with a full shout.

Korra's jaw was set, she stared back hard. "I know what it's like, but I don't think you're seeing clear right now. It's been a helluva day."

"What the fuck would you know about it?" Asami lost herself to vitriol then, but knew she chose the wrong words instantly by the same empty look that came back to the outlaw's eyes. For a moment she feared what swift act of violence she would be victim to.

But Korra stood motionless, like a statue carved of ice that would not melt under the relentless sun in a thousand years. The outlaw's unnatural ability to take up more space than she occupied returned, and an impossible blizzard swirled off her, seeming to fill the canyon from one side to the other with her cold.

"A whole lot. Too much for one lifetime, girl, and I wouldn't see its like jumped on another for anything in the world. I get times have been rough for you lately, but reality's a harsh mistress and doesn't give a damn what we want, so we make do with the best we got. Maybe that's a strange notion to you high living sort, with your fancy cooled cars, your servants waiting on every beck and call, your full spreads for dinner every night. I doubt you've wanted for anything your entire life. Well, tough shit, because you're down in the dirt now. Reality is people die out here, they get wronged every day and few get the chance we've been given. Your pa's dead girl, and for some damn reason I aim to see you don't follow him. I think it's time you open your eyes and start thinking more about yourself than your miseries if you want to make it through this. Kindness will get you killed in this desert, even if it's given to the dead."

This time Korra's lengthy speech did not dampen Asami's anger, but fanned it hotter and obliterated her reason. She forgot about any danger or pain or sadness, she did not care who it was that talked to her so. She just knew she would not take it any longer.

"I should open my eyes?" She asked lividly. "Do you think I'm blind? I've seen well enough what waits out here, but I don't give a damn what your 'reality' decides. If it's what fucked me over in the first place, then I'm telling you and it tough shit right back. Like hell I'll tuck my tail at a few cuts and bruises. If I don't do this my way, I may as well not do it at all."

And she too stood in defiance, a bloodied pillar of white hot flame to match the outlaw's ice. For a long while they dueled with unbreaking glares and clenched jaws, and once again it was only her and the outlaw left in the world, on that riverbank. This time they exchanged quiet warfare rather than quiet comfort. 

The fire began to die in Asami's chest quickly, her spirit and body were already so weakened. The last thing she wanted was more conflict, but the outlaw continued to kill that logic she defined herself with, and an irrational, iron stubbornness took its place. She did not know why it was so important to win against this woman, or why they even argued so in the first place, but something of the Sato in her held its ground. 

To her surprise, it was the outlaw who broke first. She huffed and turned away, tossing her good arm in the air and cussing loudly. 

"Fuck it, fine! You're one damn stone headed girl, you know that? If it means so much to you we'll cover them up. On one condition. You let me check those wounds, and if I see sign of danger we get you back to camp immediately."

Asami almost retorted the terms, but stopped herself. Korra was not being entirely unreasonable, she admitted, though she would never say it to the outlaw's face. Prolonging the argument would only serve to aggravate both of them further.

“Fine,” she stated. 

Korra looked surprised at her compliance. “The girl has a scrap of wit left. Anything around here to serve as bandages? I'd like to keep the shirt on my back if I can help it.”

Asami had to think for a moment, forgetting her ire briefly. “Check the cars. There should be something in there, clothes, curtains, whatever.”

Korra nodded. “Then go down to the river and wash up a little if you want, I’ll be right there.”

“I think I will,” she replied, finding irritation again at being ordered about. 

“Good,” the outlaw answered, then left to begin her search, muttering to herself about stubborn, fool girls.

Asami gave a huff of her own and made for the water, her thoughts on fire and unnoticing for once of the scene around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dears, please allow me to extend a big ol' apology for the huge delay in chapters. It's been a loco couple of weeks, and rarely have I been able to sit and write with feeling. This was a difficult one to pin down, there was a lot to tackle in way of character description. 
> 
> We've been in this canyon a looooooong time! Almost time to climb out and hit the road, a little bit more character interaction to go. Let me know what your thoughts are, it's always so great to hear what you guys are thinking about the story. I hope to see you and answer you in the comments, or over at [tumblr](http://eckswhaixi.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Love and sorries -xyz


	13. Through Desert Dust

By the time she found a train car worth searching through, she had worked herself up to the point where she was fit to punch a hole through something. Her first target was one of the car's side windows, but gravity had beaten her to it seeing as all the glass shattered when the car met the canyon floor. That left the wood and metal walls of the car itself or a few nearby boulders to focus her frustrations on, but past the anger clouding her head she knew it wouldn't do to go and damage her only working hand on one of those. Instead she settled for a rock about two fists in size at her feet, and gave it an angry kick. It shot into the side of the car with a satisfying crack.

Her satisfaction was short lived because she gave her Nomad boots more credence than they were good for. They were a mighty improvement over her old pair for walking about, but their material was thin and soft and did little to shield her toes. 

"Sonnuva-fucking-bitch!" Korra yelled, and hopped about trying to shake the smarting out of her foot. She hobbled her way over to the car and leaned back against it, propping her boot on her knee and began to rub the pain out of her toes. She let out a sigh, and some of her frustration with it.

"Fool girl's making a fool out of me," she grumbled, and looked after where Asami had disappeared towards the river.

The naïve Miss Sato had a way of getting under her skin today, more so than she cared to admit. She didn't know what set them to arguing so, but just when it seemed a sliver of common ground had been found between them, they went right back at each other's throats.

Deep in her gut, Korra found a distinct respect for the girl's grit. A couple tears shed and a little sick-up were a given after all that happened. Today had not been like one of those summertime trots the girl spoke of, and she pulled herself together more quickly than most could've, all things considered. It took a week and a bottle's worth of rye before Korra could stomach picking up a gun after her first blood, and all she remembered from that night was terrifying her comrades by emptying her Peacemaker's chambers at the moon and shouting incoherent slurs. She winced at the memory.

Asami had made for a fearsome sight when she stood her ground after Korra's admonishing, blood soaked and mad as hell, looking like the stuff nightmares were made of. It wasn't enough to shake Korra's nerve, not anymore, but Asami adapted quickly. She might not be a hopeless cause after all. Maybe some steel found its way into the girl's spine after working it for a living, Korra thought.

Still, all the Satos' metal combined wouldn't be worth a damn if the girl died from sheer stubbornness. They were a long way from the bustling city and factory floors she hailed from, and she was in for an even ruder awakening if she thought the laws and logic of civilization followed her into the desert. By Korra's reckoning, the road ahead would be trying and arduous for even the most seasoned company of veteran Rangers. She wondered not for the first time what madness caused her to throw in a lot with a vengeance-blinded, industrialist princess.

She cussed again, then dropped her bruising foot to the ground. One step at a time was a mantra she kept repeating, and for now she had to see that her stubborn charge didn't succumb to wounds easily treated. She looked for a way into the damaged train car, and found it through one of the portals on its ends. The car had been turned on its roof in its fall, and climbing over the twisted and bent door frame was no easy task given her condition. The interior was no better off, and at first she didn't recognize the car with everything upside down. Remembrance struck her upon seeing an upturned desk at the other end, and on it glinted the radiant emblem of Future Industries, caught in a beam of sunlight shining through one of the broken windows. It was the desk Hiroshi and Asami had stood behind when she boarded the train. That meant this was the office car, fated to be her first and likely last destination on the locomotive.

She walked over to the desk, stepping over books spilled from their cases and the broken furniture that littered her way, maneuvering around the lamps on the ceiling-turned-floor. She approached the upside down desk and walked around it. She bent over and began to pull its drawers out, spilling their contents on the ground. At first there was nothing that caught her interest, only documents that might've once been important. However, her eyes widened and she let out a low whistle when she pulled one drawer open and a large number of bundled banknotes piled at her feet, the kind of amount she would expect from a bank carriage robbery, not in an office desk drawer. She didn't know what use Hiroshi had for so many yuans on hand, but she quickly decided they would serve them better now than left in the train, prey for looters. She stooped and filled her pockets with the notes. It was enough to stir a familiar, dark kind of thrill in her, but she stopped it before it could rear its ugly head. Those days were gone. These notes could fulfill a more wholesome purpose by helping their cause, or so she reasoned.

She continued her search of the desk for anything else useful. More papers scattered about, until out of the last drawer fell a small square box with a dark leather cover. She picked it up and flipped it over. Yasuko was embossed in gold, fancy lettering. Curiosity had her now, and she cracked the box’s lid open on its hinges. Inside were the contents of a sewing kit, complete with needles and thread. Again she wondered what use Hiroshi had for the oddities in his desk, but didn't think too much of it. The box was a better find than she could've hoped for. 

Korra took it in hand and made her exit from the car, stopping to yank free one of its window curtains and tossing it over her shoulder on her way out. She wrestled through the door again, and stepped back under the hot sun, pleased with her bounty. She walked towards the river, past the ruinous scene of wreckage and decay. She reached the water's edge, though stayed a few steps back from it. She wasn't one for superstition, but she could still feel the cold and clammy grips of her nightmare around her. It brought about a sense of unease and she shivered, then began her search for Asami.

She trekked along the bank, but shortly her progress was blocked by a wall of tall boulders. She was unable to see over, but just past them the bank opened into what looked like the mouth of a side body of water. She heard slight splashes on the other side of the rocks and assumed Asami had found the place to rinse off. Korra edged around the boulder nearest to the water. She had guessed correctly and came to stand on the shore of a wide, shallow pool off the main of the river, about twenty paces long and ten wide.

"I found your train's lead car..." she started, but her words trailed off and died. 

It was like she stepped into a different world, leaving the red dust, stony canyon floor and dismal carnage far behind. Greenery fed by sun and water lined the pool, its verdant glow almost affronting to the eyes after so much unchanging desert. The croaks of some sort of amphibious creatures sounded from hiding places in the plants, joined in their cacophony of noise by cicada crickets. The sounds echoed on a wall of stone that surrounded the pool on all sides, closing it off in each direction but the river's. The water was clear and clean, kept from stagnation by a slight current that originated at the pool's mouth. A few small fish darted to and fro, occasionally attacking the surface at perceived prey. The pool was half cast in shade and sunlight both.

All of this went unnoticed by Korra, instead she stood dumbstruck. In the pool's center stood a figure like shaped marble, a sculptured river spirit from myth she heard decorated the galleries of those things called museums.

Asami had washed herself of blood and was bent over in the motion of wringing her soiled shirt beneath the pool's surface, facing Korra. Her raven hair was wet and draped down her shoulders, and the entirety of her was cast in serene dapples of dancing light. Beads of water caught the sun as they ran across her skin like fluid diamonds. She wore only her modest white undergarments, cut in a style befitting the practical clothes she chose for her wardrobe. Their bottoms were pulled up on her thighs above the water that lapped at them, exposing more of her legs than even the most salacious saloon girl would find proper. The rest of her unmentionables may as well have not been present, because they stuck to her fair skin and bosom with dampness, and in Asami's position afforded a view that made Korra clench the box in her hand almost as tightly as the clench in her stomach. Stark red lines marked where today's trials had wounded the girl, and Korra nearly felt the pain of the cuts themselves upon seeing them, so out of place were they. 

In the time it took for Korra to come to grips again, Asami noticed her arrival and stood, holding her soaking blouse in one hand and placing her other haughtily on her hip. She raised an eyebrow and did nothing to shield herself. In her expression were glints of both ire and challenge, and it seemed she still hadn't calmed from their spat amidst the wreckage. Korra didn't want to know what stupefied mask she wore, but by the way her mouth hung ajar she guessed it would look akin to a fish thrown on land. 

Eventually she found the first scraps of reason again and it shattered the stillness of her mind. She rapidly turned heels to face the other way, equal parts relieved and disappointed to be facing the blank face of a boulder.

"Shit! Spirits! I didn't mean to‒I didn't think‒What are you‒" she blustered, and felt a heat spread up her neck and through her cheeks, and in spite of herself, other regions. What she just saw was burned vividly into memory already, and she didn’t think any amount of willed forgetfulness would ever free her of the sight. She took a moment to steady her nerves and quell herself before talking again. She coughed awkwardly into her fist, then said, "I'll look this way until you're decent."

Other than the sounds of nature, the pool was quiet for a length of time that stretched just long enough to almost get her fidgeting. It was broken when she heard Asami take sloshing steps towards the bank. 

Asami spoke not a word the whole while, but went about motions that Korra couldn’t see.

“You’re awfully courteous for an outlaw,” Asami finally said, and rather than irritation Korra could almost swear she heard tinges of amusement in the girl’s voice. “I’m covered now.”

Korra looked back, but nearly spun around all over again. By 'covered' Asami meant she had exchanged her undergarments for only her still-wet shirt, made of thick cotton that revealed less than before and fell a suitable distance past her waist. However, it too left little to the imagination, and Korra silently begged the spirits to spare her.

No. She was 'Avatar' Korra, feared across the whole southern frontier. She had known lovers almost half the world over, and all else be damned if she'd blush like the deputy and go weak in the knees over a little flashed skin. She didn't know what game she was caught in, but she wouldn't be a part of it. There were more pressing matters at hand and now was not the appropriate time. 

Just then Asami saw fit to turn her back on Korra and lean over and lay her undergarments in the sun only a few paces away, next to her breeches that had already started their drying. The fabric of her shirt lifted along the back of her legs in the motion and it took near all Korra had to keep her ground. The girl either had to be painfully oblivious or know exactly what she was doing, and both frustrated her.

"The hell are you thinking?" She asked forcefully. Her change in tone caught Asami off guard, causing her to stand up straight again and face Korra's way. She flipped her wet hair haughtily over her shoulder, but a slight uncertainty found its way into her eyes.

"About what?" She shot back.

"This," Korra answered, pointing at Asami, then at the pool. "Did you hear a single damn thing I said back there?"

"You said I should wash up, so I did," came the defiant answer. 

Korra near choked on having her words twisted back on her.

"That's not what I meant," she said. "I didn't say strip down and take a swim. What if those looters were lying and there were more about? If it were anyone else who found you..." Korra didn't finish her thought, but closed her eyes, shook her head and let out a shaky breath. An unspeakable, untamable rage started to build from nowhere with the idea.

Asami shrugged indifferently. "I know lies when I hear them, and that woman would've sooner soiled herself than hold back the truth. Besides, I didn't think there was much to fear with you nearby. You're more formidable than I imagined, even with your handicap. I supposed I had time enough to at least clean myself of that...mess."

Her words came soft at that last part, and she got a forlorn look in her eyes.

It was Korra's turn to be taken aback. The girl bordered on near praise, and somehow it did her good to bring security. She was more used to causing sorrow. A pang of sympathy started in her chest, and she understood the girl's want to be free of reminders about today's violence. There were only a handful she could think of that would revel in sporting bloodshed, and those were like the quarry they would soon be after. Still, the luxuries of comfort and complacency couldn't be afforded in the days to come, and it would be best to remind the girl of it often. 

"You shouldn't be so quick to rely on anyone from now on. Who's to say I'll be there next time, or see fit to come help? You shouldn't forget how we got here, or who I am."

Asami's brows narrowed and her face hardened along with her voice.

"I haven't forgotten a single instant or detail. My father is dead and my life is in ruins, which could've been avoided if you had a shred of decency enough to stop that gang of yours." 

It stung to hear, but Korra could only grimace. 

"I also haven't forgotten you've saved my life, twice now. I would either be another body among the wreckage or a plaything for those freaks if you truly had no conscience. I still don't know what crimes you're running from, but either way I'm alive to see some wrongs righted. You said it yourself, if anyone else walked up besides you, I would've had some trouble to deal with. But they didn’t, and here you are.”

Korra shifted uncomfortably in place. She noticed by now the girl had a pretty way with speaking her words, eloquent and refined to meet Korra’s blunt and coarse, with a kind of tone that was indisputable. She wondered that this was the same person who was breaking apart in her arms not an hour past. 

"Did you find anything?" Asami asked. 

All too eager for a change in topic, Korra brandished the box she held.

"Found this sewing kit in your pa's desk, figured it could be useful."

Asami looked at it first with confusion, then shocked recognition. She closed the distance between them and snatched it away before Korra had a chance to blink. 

"You found this where?" She asked, and brushed her fingertips over the gold lettering on its top. Korra heard a faint and urgent pain in the question. 

"Your pa's desk," she repeated. "I'm handy with a needle and thread, I can get you stitched up right now." 

Korra noticed a line of red dripping from the girl's forearm, out of the long gash that marked it. 

"The sooner the better," she continued. "Let's have a look at you, like we agreed."

Asami didn't reply or seem to hear, instead she kept an intent gaze on the box. Korra pulled the curtain draped over her shoulder off and dropped it on the ground, then stepped over to her side and put her hand on the girl's shoulder. 

"You all right? Might've lost too much blood, maybe we should get you back to camp now."

Asami broke from her reverie, glancing up like she remembered Korra was there. 

"No. I'm fine. It's just that- this was my mother's. I didn't know my father kept it."

"Well it looks like she's doing you a good turn, even now. I'm gonna take a quick look over your wounds, show me where you've been cut." 

Asami nodded solemnly, still looking a little distant. 

"The worst of it's in my hands and arm," she said, holding them out.

She was right, the gashes were deep and required attention.

"The rest feel shallow," she continued, pointing to the lighter cuts on her arms and thigh. "The last is on my hip." She started the motion of hiking up her long shirt.

Korra started and nearly fell backwards.

"Wait, don't. That won't be necessary," she blurted, and Asami paused just short of her middle with an eyebrow cocked.

"You've been insistent on looking me over," she said. "I thought you'd be thorough."

"I'll take your word for that one, as long as you feel it's no worse than the others," Korra replied, and turned to cough into her fist, again. She would need steady hands for the job ahead, and attending to a woman like Asami would be hard enough with the condition she was in. Half-naked she could handle given the seriousness of the situation, but she was only human. 

"Spirits spare me," she mumbled under her breath.

"What was that?" Asami asked, but by the slightly upturned corners of her mouth Korra wondered if the girl knew better, and this was all some twisted play on her part.

"Nothing, go take a seat and we'll stitch you up," she near ordered.

Asami complied, finding a mossy rock to sit on. Korra followed after, crouching at her side. 

"Go ahead and thread a needle," she said. 

Asami cracked open the sewing kit and set to work. While she was busy with that, Korra gingerly reached up to the knot that tied the sling holding her right arm in place, then undid it. She winced at the pain that flooded her shoulder as its support fell away, but stifled it. 

Asami noticed her removal of the sling, and got a concerned frown.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?"

Korra shrugged with both shoulders, rolling the stiffness out of her right one and again ignoring the pain.

"I'll need both hands for this. You got that needle ready?"

Asami nodded and handed over a needle tied to a thick red thread fed by a spool. Korra took it and poised it over the wound in Asami's left forearm. 

"This'll hurt a bit."

"Can't be worse than it already is," Asami answered firmly. 

Korra nodded, then pushed the needle into the girl's bloodied skin, through one flap of skin bordering the cut and out the one on the other side. Asami gasped with a sharp intake and winced as the instrument did its work, but for her credit remained perfectly still.

"Where'd you learn to do this?" Asami asked, her voice slightly strained. She was likely looking for something to distract her thoughts.

"I'm no field medic, but on the battlefield you learn all sorts of skills by sheer necessity. Stitched up myself and others far too often on the campaign trail, physicians were always in short supply. Proved handy experience after too, when...well, you know. An outlaw's life is hardly safe living," Korra answered without looking up.

Her right hand felt numb and clumsy, and once or twice she slipped up, apologizing at the pain it must've caused. However, it was rhythmic work and she steadied into a flow as her right arm accustomed to motion again, weaving the needle and thread back and forth, closing Asami's cut along the way. They sat in the sun and sweat beaded her brow as she concentrated.

"Your ma liked to sew, huh?" She asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Asami was silent for a long enough time to make her wonder if it was the wrong question. Eventually, however, the girl spoke.

"Yes. She owned a tailor's shop when she and my father first met. She tried to teach me, but I was more interested in sneaking into father's shop. I made her a hat for her birthday one year, but it was an abomination," Asami said, and gave a little chuckle. It was the first time Korra heard it, and she thought it was a beautiful, fragile thing. "She wore it proudly anyways, the whole day, even through dinner with guests. I was mortified, but later she told me it was the best gift she received." 

Korra heard the shift in Asami's voice, and didn't need to look up from her work to guess there might be tears in the girl's eyes. She herself was at a loss for words, not having partaken in this kind of talk in too long.

"Sounds like she was a warm woman," Korra settled for a reply. 

"She was, even on her deathbed. What about yours?"

Korra tensed involuntarily at the unexpected question, jerking the needle slightly. Asami yelped.

"Shit, sorry!" Korra said hastily. 

"It's okay," Asami answered through a grimace. "I'm sorry if I pressed a sore topic."

Korra shook her head. "It's no fault of yours," she said, and continued the stitching. She was quiet for a time, recalling far away memories. "Some in my tribe said my ma was as cold and distant as the moon. She was a practical woman, sure, and always had a shrewd head for politicking, but she was kind enough to me and pa. She didn't go easy, when her time came."

Korra closed the last stitch on Asami's arm, then drew the deceased brother's knife from her waist to cut the thread free before setting the blade at her side. She attempted to tie a another fresh strand of the red string through the eye of the needle, but such finesse was still beyond her. She quietly struggled, frustrated at her ineptitude, until two cool, soft hands closed around hers. 

"Let me," Asami said, and Korra finally looked up. The girl smiled slightly and sympathetically. It caused a stir of guilt and unease in Korra, she was supposed to be tending the girl, not the other way around, but she let her take the needle and thread. Korra looked away, over the pool.

The fish had stilled beneath the water’s flat surface, and drifted lazily with the slight current. She grew conscious of the scent of freshwater and damp earth, yet another contrast to the desert their sanctuary was privy to. The effect was somewhat ruined by the constant, amplified noise of bugs, and more than once she had to swat away buzzing mosquito gnats that strayed too near. 

“Here,” she heard the girl say, and turned to find the needle threaded again. She took it.

“Almost finished,” she said, “won’t take long. You’ve done well so far, for a city girl.”

Rather than being perturbed by the jab, Asami got a look of righteous seriousness. “I can handle a few stitches if what’s to come is as bad as you say.”

Korra chuckled at the girl’s earnestness, but shook her head and raised a hand when Asami flared with indignation at the perceived slight. “I’m not laughing at you. I think you would’ve made a good soldier. I’ve seen men twice your size charge headfirst into enemy fire, only to squirm and wail like babes at the sight of a needle.” She laughed again at the thought, and this time Asami joined her. 

The girl visibly relaxed, and for a moment their eyes met. The girl, when she smiled, was dazzling, even more than usual if that was possible. In spite of it all, an expression of ease had found its way onto her face, and somehow it was directed at Korra. Thankfully it was Asami who broke the silence first, because Korra didn’t think anything reasonable would come out of her mouth at that point. 

She began her treatment of Asami's palms. Now that she worked some motion into her arm, the stitching came easier. Korra concentrated and they sat in silence. Both hands took less time combined than the gash in the girl's arm, and shortly the delicate handiwork was finished. She reached over and picked up the train car curtain from where it lay, and set to cutting the soft material into strips. Once finished, she wrapped them tightly around the girl's most offending wounds and tied them off into knots. She stood, dusted her hands on her breeches and tucked the knife once again at her side.

"That'll hold you over at least until we get to camp," Korra said. "Let's see about those folks you were interring."

Asami nodded and stood as well. She left Korra and walked over to her drying clothes, and began to cover up her half-nakedness, mercifully. Korra made not the mistake of watching, spirits knew there were limits to her endurance, but instead left the pretty girl and the pretty pool behind and walked back past the rocks that sheltered them. She stepped into the canyon proper, kicking up little tufts of red dirt under her boots. She suddenly felt the sun more hotly, and winced against the dry wind that picked up during their time near the water. The heat and the dust and the openness that met her she found refreshing, clearing her head of the spell that place had put over her. She felt grounded now that she stood again on familiar terrain, and her pulse calmed from an erratic rhythm she didn't even realize it had climbed to during their time spent by the pool. She took a moment to shake her head clear of what she had seen and heard and said. The whole thing meant nothing, she decided, and ignored the strange knot forming in her belly.

Asami joined her a few minutes later, her clothes still damp but wearable. She looked more like herself, a given now that she had washed of the blood. However, there was a change about her, in the way she bore herself. The more Korra attempted a grasp on exactly what it was, it stayed just of reach, like a mirage on hot desert sand. Rather than losing nerve over her continued disability to get a clear read on the girl, she turned down the bank. It must be the unexpected grit Asami displayed, she decided as the woman in question neared from behind. They started their way back to the heart of the train wreck in further silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beloved readers, it's been too long. Sadly this chapter was mostly written for the last couple months, but lately I have only been able to sit down with it here and there. I've missed writing this and I've missed you all, I've had a tumultuous time of it! I'm writing when and where I am able, and this story will be seen through to completion for my own sake, regardless if it takes a while.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this continuation of our girls' story, chat me up in those comments, I'd love to catch up with y'all!
> 
> much love!  
> -xyz
> 
> [The River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABydc8xzPBI) \- The Bombay Royale  
> Chapter title pulled from the lyrics of this song, first heard in the final moments of Far Cry 4. One of my favorite moments in gaming! Also check out "Wild Stallion Mountain" by The Bombay Royale, it has obviously inspired elements of this story. ;)


	14. Beginnings

They rose like specters from the icy ridge, silent and hardly a stir in the vicious blizzard that cloaked the arctic night with folding waves of falling snow, whipped about like the sails of a doomed Water Tribe cutter caught in a hurricane. The sickly green lights of aurora australis painted the landscape in a phantom hue. Billowing fur tents snapped to and fro like ice sheets below them. Shivering Northern sentries clung to the guttering flames and choking smoke of their braziers, lit from driftwood and animal fat. The fires and guards were sparse throughout the encampment, not even so much as a polar bear dog on a leashed patrol to catch their scent. 

They numbered two score in all, her and her most hardened. They had left the South Pole and themselves behind, intent only on the grim work before them. They drifted easily down the slope, crouched and nearly crawling towards their game. They surrounded the encampment on all sides and moved without a sound to be heard over the harsh elements, and hardly disturbed the snow they stepped on. 

She reached the bottom of the slope first, leaving forty paces of open snow between her and the first outlying tents on the camp’s edge. Her momentum downwards remained unbroken as she hit level ground, barreling fast and low the rest of the way. She came to a sliding halt at the side of the first tent in her path, pausing. She warmed considerably from the dash to the camp in spite of the bitter cold, her furs retaining heat as they should. Still, sweat had no opportunity to bead on her brow before it froze against her skin. Little white clouds of vapor escaped her open lips and twirled away into the greenlit night sky, her breathing calming after exertion. She listened with cold-strained ears. No alarm raised, no shouts sounded throughout the camp. Their arrival went unnoticed.

She reached into her furs and took her army knife in hand. The blade of the weapon stretched seven inches, bearing the nicks and scuffs of many uses. Few tools possessed the versatility of a knife for someone in her line of work, even a fighting one like that she held. She kept it sharpened and polished to a razor sheen, and tonight its utility would be turned once more to the grisly purpose for which it was smithed. 

She deftly jabbed the blade into the side of the tent and pulled down, silently tearing a gap long enough for her to slip through. The dying light of an oil lamp spilled through the tent’s fresh wound and pooled in the snow at her feet. She paused a moment and turned an ear to listen for sounds of disturbance. She heard only the snores of sleeping soldiers. She gingerly reached through the flaps she had made and peaked into the tent's interior. 

Three cots stood at the foot of each wall except for the tent’s proper entrance. On them lay masses of bundled fur blankets that emitted the snores she heard. One unlucky soul lay right beneath her. With deathly stealth she pushed into the tent entirely and crouched poised over the first victim. He was a man no older than his thirties, but gray already decorated his beard and temples. He had likely earned the appearance of an elder; in their land life was harsh and not generous in its longevity. 

Without hesitation she simultaneously clamped a hand over the man’s mouth and dragged her knife hard and quick across his throat. His eyes flew open in quiet, terrible shock and his body convulsed involuntarily, desperate to defend against his sudden attacker, but it was far too late. Nothing passed her fingers louder than a bloody gurgle, and the man’s life ran thick and steaming out into the cold, pouring over his furs and lining the snow under his cot.

His body barely finished its death throes before she moved to the next sleeper, repeating her handiwork on him, and then the last. She ducked out of the tent and back into the blistering cold, cautiously glancing about to reassure she went unnoticed. Only the wind-carried snow and line of army tents greeted her. Then the flaps on the tent across from her pushed open. She tensed and ducked low, ready to spring on whoever exited it. She relaxed when one of her soldiers appeared, blade bared in his hand and dripping fresh blood. They exchanged a terse nod, then each moved their separate ways to begin their assassinations anew.

The next tent went the same as the first, then the one after that and so on. She steadily carved a path of slit throats and silent death towards the camp’s center unnoticed. 

Slowly a pit grew in her stomach. It wasn't the killing; putting her knife to work was far more personal than emptying her rifle across the battlefield, yet the ruthless actions didn't so much as scratch the ice where her heart should've been. It wasn't until she neared the remaining few of her targeted tents that she realized what tugged her instinct the wrong way. 

Not a single one of the soldiers she dispatched that night ranked officer or above. By how close she was to the middle of camp she should be ending the lives of Northern brass clutching their sabers in their sleep, not the frontline infantry she found in each tent.

She emerged once again into the icy night, her task done but feeling far from finished. She went to the location designated for regrouping in their briefing. A dozen of her best already stood waiting, alert for any sign of trouble. They saluted at her approach, and a man stepped forward from their midst. His thick furs covered all but his gray eyes, but she identified him by his hulking stature to be Polak, her second-in-command. He was a hardened man in all appearances, but she knew him to soften up sweet as a polarbear pup once enough drink got to him. Now, however, his eyes were sharp and hard in a stone glare. 

“You noticed?” He asked. 

She nodded. “No brass and light patrols. This place should've been locked down like a fortress, but we cut through it easy as butter. This isn't the camp our intelligence described.”

“Then what is it?”

Before she could reply, a noise behind her turned their attention. One of her soldiers approached them, pushing a bedraggled and terrified Northern officer their way with a knife to his back. The soldier saluted her as well.

“Sir. This was the highest ranking norther I could find. You should hear what he has to say.” With an unceremonious shove, the officer was pushed down into the snow before her. 

He was a young man to be bearing an officer’s stripes on his shoulders, and cracked spectacles hung askew on the bridge of his nose. His frantic eyes darted from behind them, glancing about. He found her towering over him, and something there must've frightened him because he cowered lower.

She crouched to his level and looked him directly in the eyes. He flinched away in the flickering light of a nearby flame. He swallowed dryly and licked his cracked lips.

She took her bloodied knife and tapped it against the officer’s decorations on the chest of the man’s military coat. 

“You look a little green to be wearing these boy,” she said. “Where's your commander?” 

A little nerve must've found its way up his spine, because he tried to straighten up from where he sat. 

“I'm highest in rank here,” he said. To his credit, his voice only trembled a little. 

She snorted, and a few low chuckles sounded amongst the soldiers behind her. Their ridicule took some of the wind out of the young officer’s sails, and he sank lower in stature. 

“I ain't fooling kid, where's your commander?” she asked again. 

“I spoke the truth. I am the only senior officer in this camp. If you have business, let it be with me and leave the rest out of it.”

She raised an appraising eyebrow. “Most Northers would be pissing where they sat right around now. Maybe you do have some grit, kid, but it's too late for that. We’ve already carved ourselves a fine trail through your camp.” She lifted her bloodied knife to the officer's eye level for emphasis. “The best you can do now is answer my questions and make sure your boys don't bleed into the snow needlessly.”

The officer’s eyes widened in outrage. “You...you sick…” he choked, unable to form words around the anger evidently surging through him. “You sick Southern dogs! Not even massacring an infirm camp is beneath you, is it?” His face twisted in a hateful grimace, and he spat directly in her face. 

She barely felt the half-frozen spit strike her left cheek. She felt knocked off balance. Confusion knitted her brows. 

Polak delivered a hard kick with his heel to the officer’s cheekbone, splaying him in the snow. Polak readied a stomping motion over the officer’s head. 

“Stop,” she ordered. Polak froze, then gave her a questioning look. “I still need him able to talk.” He nodded, and instead booted the officer forcefully in the ribs. 

“Watch how you talk to the Lieutenant General,” he growled, then stepped back. 

She stood and shoved the officer on his back with her fur boot, leaning her weight heavily on his right shoulder. He looked up at her with recognition, glasses now liberated from his face where he lay face down in the snow a moment ago. 

“You're Korra aren't you?” He asked. “Figures you'd lead an operation like this. Mutilating the fallen on the battlefield wasn't enough for you, huh? Had to track the helpless down to quench your bloodlust, is that it?”

Polak growled and moved forward, but she stopped him with an upraised hand. She leaned over the officer, resting her arm on her knee and stared down at him. 

“I enjoy hearing what rumors you northers come up with, nothing wrong with being feared by the enemy. What infirm camp? I was told all your brass would be gathered here, not a company of lame and wounded.”

The officer gritted his teeth in pain. “Sounds like...you were fooled.” 

The pit that had been steadily growing in her gut now felt as large and heavy as cannon shot. Ice cold realization gripped her chest and stormed through her mind. She removed her boot from the officer’s shoulder. She barely felt Polak’s steel arms grip her shoulders and steady her, or heard the wind and murmurs of her soldiers around her. Her realization quickly turned to a cold, iron dread.

After what felt like hours she heard Polak addressing her.

“...orders, Lieutenant General?”

“Harbor City. Round up the rest, we march doubletime back to Harbor City. Their garrison is empty without us.” 

She turned and ran the direction they came from, leaving the officer where he lay, the dead where they slipped into oblivion, and those under her command watching their leader look frightened for the first time. 

“Don't let it be too late,” she whispered. “Please spirits, don't let it be too late.”

•••

“What was that?”

Korra near leaped out of her skin as her recollection was interrupted. It took her a moment to reconnect with the present. 

She sat on a log facing the Nomad camp bonfire, feeling the heat radiating from it, and saw once again her hands clasped in front of her. Her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, exposing strengthened forearms marked with nicks and scars. A gentle night breeze moseyed across the Divide’s floor, flirting with the bonfire's flames in a swirling dance.

The warmth first brought her back from the frigid, razor gales of the south and the memories cut into her skin. She blinked a few times to clear her head of the rest, and looked where the question came from. 

Asami stood just short of six paces to her left, she too basked in the light of the fire. Smudges of dirt marked her hands and face, souvenirs from their labor that afternoon. Her hair was in slight disarray, but Korra doubted the girl would care much. Funny how it only takes a day to unravel out here, she thought. Not that she thought less of the girl for it. If anything, the rings that haunted Asami’s eyes and the tired face scrubbed of cosmetics by virtue of tears and river water struck a sympathetic chord in her chest. The girl lived through hell and it left its mark on her. For better or not, gone was the doll she first laid eyes on a few days prior. Whether it was liberation or condemnation remained to be seen. 

“Just mumbling to myself,” Korra answered. After Asami’s bath, which she was sure to remember quite briefly before moving her thoughts along, the remaining daylight had passed in silence between them. If not for the grim nature of their task, Korra guessed they would have made a comical sight interring the rest of Asami’s dead friends, she with her nigh useless right arm and the girl’s gashed palms causing her to wince with each stone she picked up. Still, they had made quick work, and after Asami left a few words at each grave, they returned to the Nomad’s camp in a hurry. 

Tenzin and Opal were bickering when they reached it, though why Korra could not guess. They both were of same mind to send a search party for the two of them. The deputy sheriff looked like a chained dog between the arguing Nomads, urgently pacing and scanning the canyon for signs of his master’s return. It was he who spotted them first, and bounded at breakneck speed down the bank towards them, nearly bowling Asami over in a crushing hug, much to her fiery chagrin. Korra still couldn't hide a slight smirk at the bombardment of swears and slurs Asami shot at the deputy for his transgression and the pain it caused her fresh wounds. Mako, though sullen and worried, became remarkably attentive and hadn't left Asami side after hearing their recount of the day's trials. Korra was surprised not to see him glued to the girl’s shadow right then.

“I think your hound slipped his leash,” she added. She was doubly surprised when she saw the girl’s lips turn upwards at their corners, though ever so slightly. Korra made her own lopsided smile, and looked back to the flames. “You're gonna be fine.”

“How do you mean?” Asami asked, and she came over to sit on the same log as Korra, watching the flames too. 

“You've still gotta drop of humor left in you,” she explained. “Some make it to this side with it, others don’t. I'm not saying every mirthless fellow is a lost cause, but it's the ones who can still smile after marching through hell and dancing with devils that make it whole, or at least as close enough to whole for it to count.”

Asami looked like she was processing Korra’s words, because she concentrated on the fire with pinpoint focus and didn't speak for a time. 

“Did you make it whole?” She finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

Asami turned her scrutiny on Korra then. “If you think you hide your past well, you're an utter fool.” 

That got a spontaneous chuckle out of Korra. “I've been called worse. Tell me then, what do you know about my history?”

“You've lost everything you ever loved and had a purpose to fight for. Your family, your tribe, your country. You suffered shattering defeat and torture. You've spent so long somewhere between complete despair and livid outrage that you–”

“Okay, okay, I get it. You've got a good read on people,” Korra interrupted, shifting uncomfortably. Hearing it spoken to her made it no less reassuring.

“I might, but it's not that. You wear it plainly in your face and your eyes, and it's etched into your body and all of your actions. I'm beginning to understand how it feels, so I wanted to know if you had made it whole, and if so, how.”

It was Korra’s turn to pause for a time, as rarely did she delve deep into introspection. It was not a comfortable topic for her.

“The way I look at it, whether I'm more or lesser now doesn't matter much. Questioning it won't keep me alive or put food in my stomach. I'll save philosophizing for the day when I have to worry less about a bullet in my back.” 

Asami nodded slowly, like she was weighing what she heard. “Artfully dodged.”

“Heh. Say what you will, but that's the honest to spirits truth. Get through today before worrying about tomorrow.”

“Ahem,” came a tenor voice behind them. “Speaking of tomorrow…”

They both turned to find Tenzin approaching, standing tall with hands closed behind his back. Opal wasn't far behind, and after her came the deputy sheriff. 

“I'd like to give you girls as long as needed to rest and heal,” he went on, “but unfortunately we must leave the Divide soon, our stores need resupply.”

“That's fine Tenzin,” Korra replied. “By morning the Lotus will have three nights’ head start on us. If we mean business, then we can't afford waiting around any longer after today’s delay.” The last part was directed to Asami, who nodded agreement.

“Korra’s right,” she said. “If it weren't unsafe for the horses, I’d say we leave tonight. The earliest start possible is fine by me. Which direction do we start looking?”

“Hold up Miss Sato,” Mako interjected. “We can't just start combing the whole desert for sign of these outlaws. They could be three days in any direction. We need to go back to Wuchu and inform Sheriff Beifong of everything that's happened, then wire Republic City that you’re alive. Future Industries has to be turned on its head right now with you and Mr. Sato, spirits rest his soul, assumed dead.”

“Future Industries can wait. Nothing is more important to me right now than paying back the blood that was spilt by the Red Lotus,” Asami said sternly.

“Your ‘revenge paid for by the blood of your enemies’ is a noble pursuit and all,” Opal spoke up with dramatic emphasis, “but practically speaking, going anywhere in this desert without direction is plain suicide. All you'll get for your zeal is our sun-bleached bones in the middle of nowhere.” 

“I agree with Opal,” Tenzin said. “Spirits as my witness, I'll do everything in my power to aid you, but this troupe of Nomads is my responsibility to keep safe from the harshness of the desert.” 

Korra noticed the tension rising in Asami, and she knew why. Anything but plans to track down the Lotus would have a hard time agreeing with the girl’s current state of reasoning. It was speak up now, or risk the young Miss Sato storming out on her own.

Korra stood and turned her back to the fire so as to face them all.

“Sound points, one and all,” she started, and Asami pointed a glare her way. “The most pressing matter is to get the Nomads’ supplies stocked up, as we three are dependent on them for our own survival.” She gestured between herself, Mako and Asami. “I'm with the deputy, Wuchu should be our destination. If anyone knows anything that might point us in the right direction, I have a hunch it’d be Lin Beifong. However, it's around two weeks journey by wagon. We'll never make it if the Nomads are already running low.”

“I hate to admit it, but that won't work Korra,” Opal said. “The nearest town on our map is three days in the opposite direction. That would make it a three week trek.”

“Then Wuchu is out of the question,” Asami stated sharply. “We can't afford three weeks wasted traveling to where might be the wrong place to look.”

“No, Zaheer and the Red Lotus would’ve headed south, back the way we came,” Korra said. 

“How do you know that?”

“Sheer instinct.”

“And you want to gamble our time on sheer instinct?” Asami sounded incredulous.

“No Ms. Future Industries,” Korra answered, and gave Asami a grin. It caught the girl off guard. “I was joking. If they were going north, they would've stopped the train after the Divide. The Red Lotus detached multiple cars from your train. For what purpose I still can't guess, but if they wanted multiple, then they have to transport whatever filled them. Even if the Lotus tripled in size since I was last with them, they wouldn't have enough manpower to do that. Fortunately for them, they have plenty of horsepower and a long strip of empty rail thanks to the telegram your train’s engineer sent to Republic City. If I were Zaheer, I would get a kick out of using my mark’s own handiwork to further my goals. I'd be willing to stake money that right now they're pulling those cars along the tracks until they're close as possible to wherever they're holing up. We follow the tracks, we find them or the cars after they strip them clean and take off into the desert, and either way we’re one step closer. How's that for instinct?”

Asami looked impressed, and nodded. “Logical enough instinct for me.” In Korra’s book, that was a victory and a half.

“How old are those maps Opal?” She asked. “Dated before the water tribe civil war I bet?”

Opal nodded.

“I thought so. Well, in that time, Wuchu sprang from a couple of shacks into a bustling railroad town. Asami, do you know of anywhere else like that along the rail, in the direction we want to go?”

She looked deep in thought for a moment, like she was scanning over survey maps right in front of her, before answering. “Nothing more than a few water stations directly on the tracks, where we can ask if anyone’s seen anything. However, there's a trading outpost about a day’s travel south, a few miles from the rail. They should have enough supplies to last the Nomads for about a month.” 

“Sounds like we have our first stop. Can you guide us there?”

“I can.”

“Very well. Does that sound agreeable to all of you?” Korra looked to each of them gathered there in turn, and was met with a nod by all. 

“That's it then, we break camp at dawn,” Tenzin said affirmingly. “

Opal stretched and yawned. “Glad we all decided on something a little less suicidal. Good night you all. I'll have your bedding made up for when you retire Korra.” She turned and left the four of them there.

Tenzin stepped closer to the fire. “‘It is well that the path of a Nomad is without direction, so that the spirits may guide every step.’ Coincidences are hard to come by in this desert Korra. Whether you do or not, I believe we were meant to meet again. I look forward to seeing what the spirits have in store for you.”

“Save the pleasantries for a later time Tenzin. I appreciate everything you're doing for me again, but this time it's different. I'm riding directly into what I was trying to escape when I last travelled with you. I will not have you or the other Nomads harmed by so much as a scratch. As soon as we secure horses and supplies of our own, we’ll let you lot be.”

A small, kind smile appeared on Tenzin’s face, it's warmth accentuated by the fire’s light.

“Never you mind, Miss Korra. Nomads are familiar with the danger that comes with helping others out of kindness. Such is our purpose out here, and if helping you brings some manner of peace to your hearts and this land, then my duty to the spirits is all that much closer to being fulfilled. Even if it means the occasional purloined horse.” Tenzin shot her a wink, then tipped his straw hat to them. “Ladies, gentleman. I bid you a good night’s rest.” He turned, and followed Opal into the darkness of the camp proper.

That left the three of them alone, Mako on the other side of Asami, still perched on the log, and Korra standing next to the bonfire. The deputy sheriff looked to Asami, then shuffled his weight back and forth on his feet. 

“You should turn in too Miss Sato, it's been a long day and another one waits for us tomorrow,” he suggested. “If you'd allow me, I'll escort you back to your tent.”

“That won't be necessary deputy,” she answered. “I hardly think I'll be ambushed on the short walk to my tent. Besides, I managed well enough without you today. I’d like to have a word with Korra, you may leave us.”

Korra nearly winced on Mako’s behalf, the girl knew how to cut deep with words. For the deputy’s credit, his expression remained flat. His eyes, however, betrayed his hurt. 

“I…” He began, but ceased his sentence, and instead nodded. “Please see that she retires safely. Who knows who might still be out there.”

With barely a nod in farewell, Mako too receded into the darkness. 

Now it was only Korra and Asami by the same bonfire where they had begun the day. Only now, their standing was in stark contrast with that of the morning’s.

“Funny how it works, huh?” Korra said, turning to face the flames.

“What's that?”

“It's not just once that I've heard this desert likened to hell, and all it takes is one day through it to change a person. Maybe I'm just so used to it by now, but I can't imagine what it's like for you. How're you really holding up?”

Asami let out a long, drained sigh and leaned forward over her knees until her face was parallel to the dirt under her boots. 

“I've never been this tired in my life. I didn't know the human body could even become this sore,” she moaned. 

Korra couldn't help but chuckle at the girl’s honesty. Leaving the bonfire to its crackling, she joined Asami once again on the log. 

“You look it, too. Just means you'll sleep like a rock tonight. You'll probably want to stretch beforehand though, and again when you wake.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Korra found the next words to say.

“I won't press, I know it takes time to process these things, but when you're ready, you should talk. Doesn't necessarily have to be to me, maybe the deputy since you've known him longer, or one of the Nomads, they all have good heads on their shoulders despite their preaching. But you're not alone out here, and that's a luxury I...not everyone gets. What with the last few days being as they were, well, you'd have to be more machine than human to go unaffected.”

Asami didn't answer immediately, and was quiet long enough for Korra to wonder if she had fallen asleep on the spot, but then looked up from the ground. 

“Thanks, Miss Avatar. Right now, I don't have a clear line of thinking as much as I'd like. It's all been...quite a lot. I do know, however, that I owe you an apology. For the way I treated and spoke to you yesterday and this morning. I haven't felt that kind of anger before, but it was misplaced. If I had murdered you last night like I intended, if you weren't there today…” Asami trailed off, and her eyes looked beyond anything in sight.

“No sense in what ifs,” Korra replied. “Things worked out the way they did. And...no apology necessary. In your place I would've acted the same.”

They remained seated in silence for a time, eyes on the fire. Korra found herself at a loss for words given the rapid reversal of their disposition towards each other. It was hard to shoot the shit with someone who held a cocked gun to her chest hardly going on twenty-four hours prior, and then gone through a day like she had. She peered at Asami sideways, and reckoned it'd be best if she kept her mouth shut lest she blabber something insensitive or embarrassing as she was want to do around a pretty face, and tonight wasn't one for that. With a slow, awkward inhale she slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up, then cleared her throat.

“Well, it's time we turn in, long day behind us and another one ahead. I'll walk you to your tent.”

Asami nodded and stood, and together they walked through the camp. As they neared Asami’s tent, however, she trailed slower behind Korra. 

“Excuse me, Korra?” The girl asked. 

“Yeah?” She replied.

“Would you mind sleeping with me?”

Korra had stopped and yet she near tripped over herself on flat ground.

“What--I'm sorry?” She blustered and kept her voice as far away from a shrill as she could.

Asami suddenly looked very embarrassed and shy. “Forget it, I'm sorry, it's a very childish thing for me to ask.”

Realization caught up to Korra and she blurted a small chuckle, which caused Asami to wither even further. She held up a hand in way of reassuring Asami. “I'm not laughing at your expense, just caught me off guard is all,” she said, leaving out the part about their apparent differences in innocence. “I, umm, that's probably not for the best,” she continued, and felt horribly about the slight disappointment it brought to Asami’s face. “I mean, can't help sleeping under the stars and all that,” she lied, and hoped Asami didn't question her sleeping in Opal’s tent the night before. “I'll tell you what though, I'll pull out some bedding and lay out here, and I promise a single mouse won't move in the camp without me knowing about it, so you can rest assured. 

That got Asami looking relieved, and she gave Korra an appreciative smile. “Thank you, though I'd hate to have you sleeping in the cold.”

“Won't be a problem, born and raised water tribe. Plus, if the deputy can handle it so can I,” Korra said, and pointed at a bundle of blankets a few paces away, already emitting snores. 

“If you asked me a few nights ago I'd feel safer with an outlaw sleeping nearby I'd look at you like a mad person, but it's the truth. Thank you again for saving me today.” 

“Think nothing of it, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Gotta soft spot for damsels in distress,” Korra said, and gave Asami a grin. “Night Miss Sato.” 

“Goodnight Korra,” Asami answered with a small smile of her own, and ducked through her tent flaps.

Korra exhaled, her breath catching frost from the cold, and watched after the girl. She didn’t know whether to praise or berate herself for passing up the opportunity to share a tent with Asami. She set about gathering some spare bedding and furs and laid them near Asami’s tent, albeit a good few paces away from Mako. As she tucked in for the cold night ahead, she decided she made the right choice. Odds were the two of them felt very differently about each other, and there was no sense in ruining the fledgling understanding that had sprouted between them. Hell, it was barely a day since the Sato girl would’ve danced on her grave given the chance. Still, Korra couldn’t help but feel a little excited hope as sleep slowly pulled her under. For the first time in a long while she looked forward to waking the next morning. No matter the personal cost, she would see Asami through the tough road ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, it's been a minute hasn't it folks? For that, I hope you'll accept my sincere apologies. I moved and was without computer or internet for 6 months! Can you believe that? Now that I've got 'em back I can't. This chapter was in the works intermittently before and after, and at long last it's finished. It brings me great pleasure to be writing and posting again, I sure as hell missed it, and I hope you all enjoy it! Shoot me your delightful comments, good or bad, down there below!
> 
> With love and fondness, XYZ

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on my Tumblr profile or my Twitch channel, where I am frequently streaming! Stop by either and say hello! Links for your convenience:
> 
>  [Tumblr](http://eckswhaixi.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  [Twitch](http://www.twitch.tv/eckswhaixi)


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